The Golden Years
by Jimperbam
Summary: A series of snapshots of the 60-year interlude of the epic Destiny Undone. Requested by Hristonostore Onediel. (Reader/Thorin; I'd love for you to read the original but it's not necessary!)
1. The Wedding Planner

By request by the wonderful and fabulous Hristonostore Onediel (and possibly desired by many others), I present to you the goings-on of the 60 years between Hobbit and LOTR! There's a lot of time for adventures of all kinds, so let's dive right in! Mx. Onediel is feeding me some of the chapter ideas, and I'll think of some myself, but if there's anything you're absolutely dying to see, leave a comment and I'll see if I can work it in! Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

Fili and Kili are milling around in the hall outside your room when you wake up the day after Thorin proposed. The greeting on your lips is never given; Kili grabs your hand as soon as the door shuts. He and Fili stare at it for half a second before whooping and snatching you up in a hug.

"Um?" you squeak, returning the gesture. "Did I miss something?'

"He finally did it! He finally proposed!" Fili shouts to the ceiling. "I thought I would go grey before it happened! Congratulations!"

"You'll be officially part of the family," Kili continues, beaming. "I'm so glad it's you. No other lady could have captured Thorin's heart so thoroughly.

"Thank you both," you mumble, blushing. "I'm excited, too."

"Excited for _what?_ " Thorin grumbles, opening the door. "What is this racket?"

Thorin is very quickly woken up when his nephews immediately mob him with similar sentiments. He is left disheveled and also a bit red in the face.

"We'll take care of your pre-wedding celebration," Fili assures Thorin with a gleam in his eye. "It will be the best night you won't remember, I promise."

"And Mother will want to help plan the ceremony," Kili puts in eagerly. "She and Tauriel can do Aniel's party. Would you like it to be traditional, Aniel? Because - "

"Alright, that's enough," Thorin says firmly. "I've only just proposed, and we have plenty of time to plan."

"And the ring is magnificent!" Kili exclaims. "I've never seen such a jewel. But Thorin, where's yours?"

"Oh no!" you gasp. "I forgot, you need a ring, too! Where can I get one?"

"Well, it's traditional for you to forge it yourself - " Kili stops talking at a _look_ from Thorin.

"Is it? I have no idea how to do that, but I can learn! Thorin, let's go to the forges now!"

Thorin says gently, "You don't need to rush. And I can do my own ring."

"No! I wanna do it! I wanna go now!"

Thorin heaves a sigh and shoots his nephews an irritated look. They grin shamelessly after the two of you as you descend to the forges. Not many Dwarves are working this early in the morning, so you have an entire block of work stations to yourself. You're glad for it: you're sure your first encounter with superheated metal will not be a graceful one.

Thorin instructs you on how to heat the metal and pound it around a mandril. You watch closely, wanting to make the ring as perfect as possible. "That doesn't look too hard," you say brightly when the demonstration is finished.

"Just be very careful."

"I'm always careful!"

You select a strip of iron with a long pair of tongs and hold it over the roaring fire. You're fascinated by the way it slowly turns from dull silver to glowing red. You lay the now malleable material on the mandril to shape it and give it a strong blow with the hammer.

Thorin is kind enough not to laugh when the bit of metal only bends slightly. You frown at it. Despite being almost white-hot, it's not that easy to shape. You suddenly have a whole new level of respect for people who make swords for a living. You strike the metal again, again, and again, each time growing more frustrated and using more force.

"There's got to be an easier way to do this!" you pant.

"It's called smelting, but I'm not letting you around molten metal just yet."

You've worked so long that the somewhat curved ring in progress must be reheated. You go back to hammering. Then the unthinkable happens: you miss the metal and strike the mandril, causing it to catapult the burning soon-to-be ring right at your face. You instinctively put up your hands as a shield, which works, but the hot projectile hits your wrist and slips into your sleeve.

You scream curses in every language you know as you flail your arm, trying to shake out the scrap that sears every inch of skin it hits. Alarmed, Thorin grabs you and rips off your entire sleeve. You clutch your arm, tears welling in your eyes. Angry red burns have already popped up in several places, making your arm look like it had come off the worse in a fight with a very small dragon.

"Are you alright? Let me see!"

You wince and whimper when Thorin grabs your arm. His expression twists at the pox-like series of burns. "No more forging," he growls. "Come here, love."

He leads you over to the water wheel that powers the cable carts. You hold your arm in the cool mist, trying not to let the tears overflow. Thorin notices and gently kisses you on the head.

"I didn't do well," you mumble.

"It's alright. I'm sorry, I should have known you weren't ready. I'll finish the ring, just tell me how you want it."

"Maybe I'd have better luck with smelting."

" _No_. Now let's get some salve on this so it won't scar."

The first phase of your wedding planning leaves you with a white bandage all up your abused arm and no ring to show for it. You very much hope that it's not an omen of things to come, or else one of you might end up dead before the vows can be exchanged.

The whole kingdom knows about the impending marriage by the next morning. You're thoroughly impressed both with how fast word travels and how hard Kili and Fili must have worked to spread the news. Thorin's a bit disgruntled - you suspect he wanted to be the one to make the announcement - but you're beginning to get excited. It's all anyone talks about, and every time someone passes you they give their best wishes.

Dis is possibly the most thrilled. She confronts you only days later with ideas for colors, dresses, locations, menu items, and songs.

"Relax, Dis!" you laugh, shuffling through the parchments. "We've been engaged all of three days!"

"You must understand, Aniel - I never thought my brother would find someone he loved enough to marry. Now that he has, I want this day to be perfect!"

"And it will be! But even so, I wouldn't need anything fancy. A tiny thing with just family and friends would be just as good as a massive ceremony with the entire kingdom in attendance. Just as long as I get to marry him."

"Oh, you will, darling. I'll see to that."

And see to it she does. Dis almost singlehandedly coordinates every detail of the wedding. She consults you, gets your decision, and makes it happen. All you can do is hold on for the ride.

Thorin enters your room one night looking thoroughly put out. It's such an expression that you laugh aloud upon seeing him. "What in the world happened to make you look like that?"

"My sister," he grumbles, flopping on the bed. "I just got out of a measuring session for my wedding wear. It was very thorough."

"Oh, poor thing! I guess I've got that to look forward to tomorrow."

"I can rein her in if she's too much," he offers.

"What's the point of doing that now? The whole wedding's almost planned! It's so exciting! Er... _are_ you excited?"

Thorin pulls you down on the bed. "I am _ecstatic_ ," he murmurs into your neck before kissing it. "To have you as my own will be the crowning achievement of my life."

"Y-You already have me," you squeak, trying to focus on the conversation. "I've been meaning to ask you - what exactly does a traditional Dwarvish wedding entail?"

"It's been a while since I've been to one. Let's see - the guests form a circle around the altar with paths for the bride and groom to walk through. We'll meet each other there and say our vows - "

"In Khuzdul?"

"Usually, but in this case we can do it in Common."

"In Khuzdul," you say firmly. "I'll learn it. Go on."

"Then we forge two links together to signify the permanence of our bond, though I was thinking of taking that out, all things considered..."

"All things considered?" You look at him, indignant. "Just because there was a tiny mishap the other day does not mean I can't figure out how to forge for our wedding ceremony!"

"That _t_ _iny mishap_ burned your whole arm," Thorin says darkly, tracing one of the few places that hadn't yet healed.

"I'm doing it and you can't stop me. This is going to be a traditional wedding if it kills me."

"Poor choice of words, love. Perhaps there are other traditions we might incorporate that are a little safer. What does an Elvish ceremony entail?"

"Well, before the ceremony, the bride and groom aren't allowed to see each other. It's considered bad luck. The groom goes to the altar first, then the bride's father walks her down the isle and gives her away. Then the vows are exchanged, and the rings, and sometimes they'll light candles or mix different color sands to symbolize the union, then they kiss and everybody parties."

Thorin smiles. "How tame. No wonder Elves live longer."

"We may live longer, but you live more fun. I'm going to learn the vows in Khuzdul, and I'm going to figure out how to forge."

"I'm going to teach you how to forge," he corrects. "And we'll take more precautions this time."

The next day, you go to Dis' room for the measuring. You open the door, and for a split second you wonder if you went to the wrong place - it's less of a room than it is the apparent origin of all textiles. Bolts of cloth of every imaginable color and texture are heaped in mountains, leaving only a bit of space in the floor for the measuring.

Dis emerges from the cloth wonderland with a big smile in place. "We have plenty of options," she says brightly. "Your dress is going to be legendary."

"Uh, Dis, you do know that I only need _one_ dress, right?"

"I'm aware. Now disrobe, if you don't mind, so I can get your measurements."

You pile your clothes on the edge of the open floor. Dis sets to work with a measuring tape, humming cheerily. You stare ahead into the large three-panel mirror at yourself. It's been a long while since you've seen yourself naked, and the changes to your body are astounding. For one, your upper body is more toned due to so much use of weapons. There is a slightly raised line across your chest, your souvenir from the fight with Azog. But what's truly the most noticeable is the growth in body hair. You haven't shaved in months - did Middle Earth even have razors? - and it shows, especially on your legs. You giggle at your hairy legs and wiggle your toes.

"Sorry, did I tickle?"

"No, I was just looking at myself. I'm so much more hairy than I used to be. It's funny."

"That's a beauty mark in our culture, you know."

"I know. That's why I don't mind it. To be honest, shaving every day got old quick."

"You used to shave _every day?_ Goodness, I'm glad we rescued you from those barbarians!"

"So am I," you say pensively, moving on to examine every inch of your skin. "To each their own, but being with Dwarves is...I don't really know how to explain it. You're more alive, or you live more, or something like that. You're all so simple and yet so complex, and...free."

"Thorin's poetry is rubbing off on you, lass." Dis tickles your tummy, earning a squeal. "But what you say has truth, though we're not without our flaws."

"No one is without flaws."

"Even your beloved Thorin?"

"Please, I could write a novel about his flaws...and another one about why I love each of them..."

"You are beyond help, my dear, and I am glad for it. You're good for Thorin. You balance him well, like the sun and the moon."

"Thank you, Dis. For everything. We wouldn't have gotten around to tying the knot for ages if not for you."

"I can't help but be excited! This is the first wedding these halls have seen in too many years. I would have only the perfect day for my soon-to-be sister."

"And I'm sure it will be perfect, or else."

"Or else." Dis nods thoughtfully. "I like that."

You give Dis a few thoughts on what you want in your dress, but leave it largely up to her discretion. You want it to be a surprise. You then visit Balin to get a copy of the vows in Khuzdul. You spend the rest of the day poring over the parchment with increasing frustration. It is like this that Thorin finds you that evening: hunched over the desk by the light of a drooping candle, squinting at the paper and mouthing more obscenities than vows.

"You do not need to learn these," he laughs, pulling you back against your chair to straighten your back. "We'll do the ceremony in Common."

"I want to," you mutter.

"Why? Why are you so adamant about having a traditional wedding?"

You look up at him. "Why are you so lax about it?"

"I am only lax in comparison."

"I am marrying you because I love you. But that's not the only thing this marriage signifies. Whether you mean it to be or not, this will be a massive political statement. You say the people love me and accept me, and maybe they do, but I'd be surprised if they'd all be so willing to have an Elf as a queen. I want the ceremony to be traditional to show them that I have no secret Elvish agenda, that I am for them a hundred percent. Also, I just really want to see a traditional wedding."

Thorin gazes at you, a small smile of humored awe playing. "You are something else, do you know that?"

"I've been told."

"You already have a political mind. I'll admit I'm surprised by that. You'll make a fine queen, Aniel. But I want this day to be everything _you_ want."

"Everyone seems to be so sure that if this wedding doesn't go off without a hitch, I'll be devastated." You rise, push him into the chair, and sit on his lap. "It could rain enough to flood, or orcs could attack, or no one could show up at all, and all I'd care about is whether or not I get to say my vows and be married to you."

"Then does it really matter what language you say those vows in?"

"No, but I'm still gonna learn it."

He rests his forehead against yours. "Why are you so stubborn, darling?"

"Because I've spent so much time around you."

"Then I suppose it cannot be helped."

Thorin's idea of "extra precaution" for forging is nothing short of humiliating. He outfits you with a pair of thick, elbow-high work gloves and a heavy leather apron. The stiff mitts give you the dexterity of a three-year-old.

"How am I supposed to grip anything like this?" you complain, trying to ignore the stares.

"Tiny steps, love. We'll start with something less precise."

The task is to shape a rod into a curly-cue. It seems simple enough, but Thorin does not simply leave you to it. He guides your arms with his, measuring each firm strike and shifting the rod when necessary. The little comments of instruction are completely lost on you; you were long gone the second his front met your back.

"I'm supposed to be learning something, right?" you say dazedly.

"I would hope so."

"That is not going to happen with you distracting me like this."

"Distracting? I'm only - ah, I understand." Thorin smiles and moves away.

"No, I didn't say for you to stop! Come back and help me!"

"I'm right here. Keep working at it."

You grumble to yourself as you slowly pound the hot metal into shape. The end result is a mixed bag: it _is_ a curly-cue, but the circles are lumpy and uneven. It could pass as a fine piece modern art, but unfortunately Middle Earth culture has not progressed that far.

"Not bad for your first try," Thorin says proudly, examining it. "We should take it upstairs and use it as our fire poker."

You groan. "Are you going to keep everything I do like some proud mother?"

"If you're not careful, I'll declare every practice piece a royal relic."

"Fire poker it is!"

Thorin laughs and takes you in his arms. "It _is_ a good first try. You catch on quick."

"I have a good teacher who has _spectacular_ teaching methods."

Thorin takes the new fire poker. You expect him to follow you upstairs; you have a dress fitting with Dis, and he should be putting that misshapen thing away. Instead he bids you farewell and continues on his way.

"Are you just gonna carry that around all day?" you demand.

He examines it thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I will."

" _Thorin Oakenshield!_ "

He laughs to himself as he disappears down the corridor. Fuming, you ascend to meet Dis. She notices your undisguised bad mood and also chuckles upon hearing the story.

"Don't be hard on him," she says, helping you with your clothes. "He's probably just very proud. Though I don't see how he'll have time to make your wedding gift if you're always in the forges with him - "

"Wedding gift?" You turn to look at Dis, who has a very guilty expression. "What wedding gift? Dis, you tell me right now!"

"I wasn't supposed to mention it, but...well, it's custom for Dwarves getting married to present the other with a gift of their craft. I thought he was going to take that bit out since you don't _have_ a craft, but he told me the other day that he wanted to make you something anyway."

You're outraged. "And you were just going to not tell me and let me look like an idiot?!"

"No! It wouldn't be expected of you, dear, you don't know how to do anything."

"Oh, yeah, really? Is that how it is?"

"No, I didn't mean it that way - "

"I'll show you both! I'll make him a present and I won't have any help and it will be magnificent!"

"I'm sure you will, dear," she says pacifyingly. "Now lift your arms."

Dis refuses to let you see the dress blindfolds you right after dropping it over your head. You gather what details you can through other senses. It's made of a heavy material - delicate ones are not common on Dwaves, you've noticed - something akin to velvet. It fits snugly around your bust and waist and probably shows off all your best curves. The cut is open but modest. The fact that you can't feel the bottom hem on your skin even while you stand on a stool hints at a train. You smugly voice all these little things to Dis while she checks the measurements.

"All superficial little things," she says dismissively. "The real work of art is something only eyes can behold."

"I don't doubt that. Why won't you let me see it?"

"Because it's not ready, and I'm not about give away even one peek! You must be thoroughly surprised!"

You consider teasing her with the possibility of not liking it, but that's not even a notion to entertain. You have no misgivings about Dis' ability to deliver. If she says the dress will be legendary, then you fully expect songs and poems to be written about it.

Your own work of art starts bright and early the next morning. You knew exactly what you wanted to make for Thorin only minutes after being made aware of the exchange. It would be painstaking - no, it would just be a pain in the ass - but you feel like you have things to prove beyond your love for your future husband, so all the work will be worth it.

You find a nice spot with a clear view of the Mountain in its entirety and begin to sketch it on parchment. The sketch grows more and more detailed as you try to include every crevice and facet of the rock. The gates get their own page from a closer vantage point. It takes hours and several restarts, but finally you are satisfied with the concept art.

The next phase you initiate a few days later. You round up a few blocks of wood and some carving tools and hesitantly start into one of the wood blocks. You have never carved wood before. It more than shows. The practice sphere comes out a deformed egg, but you refuse to be discouraged. You work with that chisel until you can produce an almost perfectly straight, uniformly deep line. It's good enough. Using your drawings as a guide, you chip away at the log until a vaguely mountainous form emerges from what was previously a cylinder.

"What are you working on, love?"

"Ahh!" You shout in surprise and throw yourself in front of your workspace. "What? Nothing!"

Thorin grins at your obvious reaction. "Nothing at all? Is that why the floor's covered in wood shavings?"

"Our room is never clean anyway!"

Thorin kindly turns his back so you can violently shove the carving in the closet and cover it. "Do you need your own workspace?" he asks, ignoring the sound of things falling and your subsequent cursing. "We can find you somewhere quiet and open."

"No, it's fine," you pant, shoving the closet door closed. "This is a, uh, special project. One-time thing. And you're not allowed to look at it!"

"You hid it, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but you better not go looking for it."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He surveys the mess in the floor. "I didn't know you work in woodcraft."

"Neither did I." You sweep the chips into the fire. "I'm not sure I'm any good at it, but it's oddly calming to carve something out of nothing. Maybe I'll carry it on...and why do you look so pleased?"

Thorin fails terribly at hiding his beaming expression. "I'm simply happy that you may have found a craft."

"Crafting is big with Dwarves, isn't it?"

"It is integral to our culture. To create anything is to put a piece of yourself into it. It is how we stay alive even after we pass."

You smile at the idea. "Is that why you're trying to teach me to forge?"

"Yes, but if you're more comfortable with wood work, you should pursue your heart's interest."

"Pursue my heart's interest? If you insist." You slump into his arms and plant a lazy kiss on his jaw. Thorin chuckles at your antics and scoops you up. You remark as he carries you to the bed, "You're a lot stronger than you look, and you look pretty strong."

"You weigh nothing. The wind could carry you away. You're like a new, slender tree blowing in the spring breeze."

"Were you always this poetic?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps I just found new words when I fell for you."

You're sure to take extra care to be stealthy as you move down to the forges to complete the gift. It takes a lot of trial and error, but you eventually work out how to make a mold from the wood carving. You're more careful than you've ever been in your life not to splash any of the molten on yourself or anything else as you ladle it into the mold. After that...you wait. You have no idea how long it should take to cool. You give it three days and stash it somewhere secret and safe.

The moment of truth arrives when you crack the mold. You aren't gentle; you assume that a giant hunk of iron should have some durability. It takes some cleverness, but eventually you remove the mold, leaving a only the replica of the Lonely Mountain you made with your own two hands. After some polishing, it's so breathtaking that you sit and admire it for a while. Perhaps you had more skill at forging than you thought! With a few extra finishing touches, you would be proud to present the gift to Thorin.

What you had in mind turns out to be easier imagined than executed. You attempt to add the front gates in gold and a pretty white gem at the peak to symbolize the Arkenstone. This leads to several cuts and burns on your hands and more cursing than you knew you were capable of. Unfortunately, the injuries do not go unnoticed.

"What's happened to your hands?" Thorin asks with a frown one night before bed. "It looks like you've been juggling knives!"

"I've been working on something," you reply evasively.

"Maybe I should help you with it."

"That would be counterproductive. Besides, I'm almost done with it. And I hear Dis is almost done with my dress, which means..."

The change of subject is the perfect distraction. "Which means we will soon be married," he finishes with a smile. "It cannot come soon enough."

"But we haven't even sent out invitations!"

"There's no need. Everyone is invited."

"Everyone? How many people is _everyone?_ "

"All Dwarves who care to come, and the Men of Dale as well."

"And Thranduil?"

"What? Why would we invite that blight on Arda?"

You shrug. "I just figured that with an Elf bride, you would invite the Elf King."

"Never."

"You know, it might eventually be in your best interest to make peace with them."

"No," he says plainly.

"Not even if it made complete sense to do it?"

"If he desires peace, he can come to me to discuss it."

"I'm not even going to argue," you sigh. "I guess marrying across race lines can't heal all wounds."

"I'm glad we understand each other. I want to be focused on you on that glorious day. No distractions of any kind."

"It won't be hard." A blush creeps up as you contemplate Thorin in whatever Dis planned to have him wear. "I'm sure I won't be able to take my eyes off you. All the women will be desolate that you're off the market. Meanwhile I'll be living a dream come true for the rest of my life."

"A dream come true..." he repeats, smiling at the words. "Is it so much like a fairy story?"

"It's better. It's real."


	2. The Vow

I'M SORRY I SOLD MY SOUL TO MASS EFFECT I'M SORRYYYYY. The irony is that my internet was out for a day after I finished the chapter so I STILL couldn't post it. I'll try to be better about updates, and thanks to Hristonostore and 66Seals for kicking my ass from time to time.

It's been so long I can't even remember my usual disclaimer; it's all to Tolkien.

* * *

"Thorin? Can I ask you something?"

You're lying in the bed with him, wrapped up in his arms. It's been quiet for a while; you both have your own thoughts to occupy you. It's the night before your wedding.

"Anything, love."

"Be honest with me - what did you think of me when we first met? It was obviously nothing good, but I'm still curious."

Thorin sighs. "When I first saw your face in the kitchen of Bag End...well, I despised you. The more you spoke, the angrier I became. How could an Elf know so much of such secret matters? But you had to know I didn't like you. Why would you want me to say it?"

"I like to reminisce," you say happily. "And I think it's funny given how far we've come. But do go on."

"You were so unbearably cheerful. It was strange and off-putting for an Elf to be so friendly. You hoodwinked Kili and Balin right off the bat. I thought it was an act, but I've never known any being to be so resolutely happy. If it were an act, it had to be tiresome. I expected it to drop soon, but it never did, not even to this day. I had more important things to deal with than a strange Elf, so I let it go. Then Rivendell happened..."

You laugh aloud at the memory of pelting him with nuts from a tree. "That was a good time. I recall that you did seem to like me at least marginally more there."

"I couldn't help it. You'd begun to wear me down. Asking me to help fill you bath like you had no idea how! But I did because you were always genuine. Every word, every smile, every laugh - none of it was fake. I started to find it incredible that you could remain chipper despite the circumstances and my grumpiness. Once I found out the real reason you were adamant about coming, I could hate you no longer and even began to regret my earlier hostility."

"Mark this day in history: Thorin Oakenshield admits he made a wrong judgment."

"And only you could make me admit it, which is the point. No one has ever affected me so deeply and thoroughly. But what of you? You did not hate me at first sight, but you were a bit cold at some points. Did your opinion of me fall once we met?"

"Not fall, no...more like had a reality check. I knew of you before we met, of course, but I never expected such a level of grouchiness. You have it down to an art form. I guess I slowly fell for the real you rather than my idea of you."

"Were the two very different?"

"No, not terribly, but being denied a fire after a stormy ride on a stone giant was more real than I could handle."

"Yes, I recall you threatening to kill me." Thorin smiles fondly at the memory.

You laugh. "Is that flirting to Dwarves? Did I accidentally request your hand in courtship?"

"You're terrible! It wasn't flirting, but I knew you weren't serious. It was the first time I'd seen you anything but chipper, which was why I thought it was funny."

"I _knew_ it," you say, "I _knew_ you were laughing at me!"

"I couldn't help it. I never believed you were made for the road, and you proved me right just then."

"Well, you're not wrong," you sigh. "I was spoiled, but I got used to it."

"I should like to spoil you again," he murmurs, going for your neck.

"Jesus," you mutter. The gesture reminded you of the post-wedding activities waiting for you the following night.

"What's that?"

"I was just wondering - is Dwarf tradition the same as...I mean, are we going to...uh, what's going to _happen_ tomorrow night? Y'know, after we're...married?"

"Oh." Realization dawns on Thorin's features. "You're asking about consummation."

"Sure, if you want to be so formal about it."

He kisses your hair. "I would not do anything you didn't want."

"Thorin, I appreciate it, but let's get one thing straight: it has been my life's goal to bed you."

Thorin's laughter rings off the walls. "Your life's goal, you say? If only you'd have mentioned that sooner! In that case, it will be a night for the songs."

You blush furiously at the implications of his promise. Butterflies riot in your stomach. The idea of seeing Thorin naked, let alone _sleeping_ with him - you push it out of your mind, wanting to save the honeymoon for the actual honeymoon. You clear your throat. "I, uh, look forward to it."

"It certainly hasn't been easy restraining myself," he continues, returning to the expanse above your shoulder. "I suppose I just hardly had the opportunity to do it right. But tomorrow I will, I swear it."

"We could do it on a blanket in the middle of the forest and it would be right."

Thorin chuckles again at your bluntness. "Then prepare yourself, my love. It seems like you've got an eventful day ahead of you."

Dis is buttoning your dress and you're staring at yourself in the mirror, analyzing every inch of fabric and repeating your vows over and over. The dress is the richest of sky blue, made of a feather-light material that catches every ray of light. Thick strips of diamonds drip at the hems and glint and glitter like stars. More diamonds weigh down the train, which is its own galaxy. The circlet on your head is silver and surprisingly simple. You feel like a true Elf in the garment, which is, just as Dis promised, legendary.

"Perfect," Dis declares, tucking the last hair into place. "You are more beautiful than the Arkenstone, darling."

You can't quite bring yourself to speak. Your head is buzzing with too many rushed, fragmented thoughts.

"You look terrified," she chuckles.

"I...I am. I don't know why. It's not like I'm having second thoughts. It - it must just be nerves."

"You'll be fine. Everyone will be looking at you, but all you need to look at is him."

You half-smile for a moment. It's very good advice that you can certainly follow.

"Before you do this, Aniel, I want to thank you."

"Thank me?" You blink at her. "For what?"

"This day would never have come if not for you. I have no family left if not for you."

"Oh, Dis, you don't need to - it wasn't - "

"I do, and it was." Dis takes both your hands. "I will always be grateful for them, and I am honored to have you as part of the family."

"Dis..." Your eyes well up and you hug her tightly.

"Now, don't cry before it's time! Which, speaking of - "

Music mounts outside the tent, a very light, gentle tune for Dwarven composition. Your heart hammers in your chest and suddenly it's a thousand degrees. Dis has to shove you out of the tent to get you moving, and suddenly you're staring at what has to be a gathering of every Dwarf in Middle Earth.

The sea of beards parts for you as you make your way to the altar in the center of the circle. You can't help but blink around at them; it's not dignified, and certainly not queenly, but there are _so many of them_ that it's not believable. There is a slight smattering of Men amongst them, likely the inhabitants of Dale.

You quickly look ahead after stumbling slightly on the hem of your dress. For a moment you don't see anyone you know, but then the people part on the opposite side of the circle, allowing Thorin to pass, and your breath catches in your throat. He's clad in the royal blue he always looks so good in, and some polished armor. His strides are steady and sure. He's more majestic than you've ever seen him. In that second, you're not nervous at all and can't remember why you ever were.

You and Thorin arrive at the round stone altar at the same time. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no words come out. You grin at the fact that he's speechless. You want to reach across to him, but the altar has the forging fire blazing in its depths, and your sleeves would catch.

Balin is officiating. You get choked up just seeing him. He gives you an encouraging smile before beginning. "The love of these two souls is what brings us here today, and that love is what will bind them forever. May Mahal bless this union and make it stronger that the foundations of the earth. Aniel, please recite your vows."

You probably shouldn't take that as a challenge, but you do. You review the words at light speed, visualizing the paper and all the times you practiced with Dis to nail the pronunciation. You speak earnestly, putting love into every syllable, even though you have no idea what you're saying.

The work was worth it. Almost silent whispers ripple through the crowd. Thorin's eyes are wide; he takes a step toward you but is impeded by the altar. You smile triumphantly upon finishing.

Balin is stunned into silence for a moment before remembering to say, "And - and Thorin, please recite your vows."

You watch Thorin eagerly, excited to know what you'd just said.

Thorin speaks slowly, quitely, his voice full of emotion, his eyes never leaving yours. "With love as my word, I swear this: to provide for you, to comfort you, to cherish you, in times of plenty and times of doubt, in health and illness, day and night, until the breaking of the world."

Tears gush forth like a dam breaking. You cover your mouth to try to keep it in, to no avail. You let out a watery laugh that Thorin echoes.

"The couple will now forge their love in iron. Here, lass..."

You accept the tools from Balin and take up the little length of metal. Thorin glances at you, clearly nervous, but you're not about to let this masterpiece of a dress come to harm. You heat and shape the metal with very capable hands and join it with Thorin's link before it cools. Your side isn't exactly a perfect oval, but it's very passable for someone who crash-coursed forging over the span of a few short weeks.

The gathering erupts in deafening cheers when you quench the tiny chain. You assume that means it's the end of the ceremony and take this opportunity to passionately kiss your new husband. This earns some extra hollers. You notice Thorin's face is also wet as you kiss him. He reciprocates your gesture just as enthusiastically. You dissolve into giggles and leap into his arms.

The procession flows like a flooding river back into the Mountain and into the Great Hall. You're sure there's no way everyone will fit inside, but by what can only be the work of magic, no one is left without a seat. You and Thorin have central seats at the high table along with the rest of the royal family and other "dignitaries": Bard and his family, and Bilbo and Gandalf, neither of whom you know were coming. You wave excitedly at them but have no chance of being heard over the din.

The food required to feed the celebration could have sustained the Shire for at least three months. The spread is even more luxurious than the coronation. It's mostly meat taken from every edible animal and prepared a hundred different ways. The desserts are not withheld until the end of the meal.

"Is there a cake?" you inquire of Thorin.

"There are thousands of cakes, love. Help yourself."

"No, I mean _a_ cake - our cake. The wedding cake."

He tilts his head. "Was...there supposed to be?"

"Oh. No, I guess not. I keep getting traditions mixed up. But that's probably a good thing, since one huge cake would have to be massive to feed everyone."

"We could have made a cake if you wanted it. Why didn't you mention it?"

"It's not a big deal," you laugh. "I don't mind mixing traditions."

"And you did." Thorin captures your hands. "Your vows...I never thought I'd hear them from you in my language..."

"I told you I'd learn them. It was important to me because it was important to you. Just _please_ tell me I said everything right."

"It was perfect. You were perfect. Thank you for that."

You kiss him on the cheek. "And thank you for saying yours in Common, because I didn't know how it translated. It was beautiful."

"You're a brave lass to say a vow when you do not know to what you are agreeing."

"I'd say anything in any language to marry you."

The two of you get a bit caught up in being newlyweds for the latter part of the feast. Dis has to elbow Thorin back to reality. "It's time for presents!" she tells him sharply.

"What? Oh, yes of course." Thorin smiles briefly but excitedly at you. "How could I forget? I've wanted to give it to you forever."

A hush falls over the crowd. Thorin stands and raises you by the hand. Your heart beats faster; Thorin hadn't mentioned anything about his gift, though you knew he'd made one, so you have no idea what to expect.

"You know I'm nothing if not practical," he begins. Anticipation shines in his eyes. "I wanted you to have something as unique as we are - as unique as _you_ are. Something that you'll always use."

"You're killing me, Thorin," you say breathlessly.

A Dwarf supplies him with a fair sized box. He opens it to reveal the most incredible tiara you could imagine. You never thought anything could come close to your engagement ring, but the symmetrical rainbow of brilliant gems on a delicate silver circlet just about surpasses it. The structure of the crown is almost Elvish, but the lines are too strong to flow completely. It's the perfect fusion of the two races.

You tear up as you look at it. It's so incredible that you're afraid to touch it. Thorin places in on your head where it rests with a pleasant weight. You jump into his arms and hope that your hug says everything you can't. From the way he chuckles warmly into your hair, it seems he understands. The gathering _ahh_ s and cheers.

Thorin goes to sit down after you break apart. You grin. "What, don't I get a turn?"

"What?" He looks back at you, bemused.

You address the gathering. "My beloved Thorin, probably trying to spare me the embarrassment of not having learned a craft, didn't mention that we'd be exchanging gifts. But I had an inside source, so I was forewarned."

"Forewarned?" Thorin seems to forget you're in front of hundreds of people and squints at you. "How did - did _Dis_ \- ?"

"Yes, Dis did, and I would have looked ridiculous if she hadn't! I made you something anyway, all by myself, with no help at all! Dis, if you will."

Dis is smirking as she pulls out the finished product covered by a sheet and sets it on the table. The solid iron object makes a heavy _thump_ on the wood. Thorin blinks at it and the crowd speculates in murmurs.

"I guess this just shows that I'm less practical and more sentimental. I, uh, really hope you like it."

Thorin uncovers the masterpiece, the finished replica of the Mountain. The body is iron and the gates are gold. You even selected a fine white gem to set at the peak to symbolize the Arkenstone. You beam down at your creation, the one that only a few weeks ago you'd been cursing violently at, and feel so pleased that it's like you're the one receiving the gift.

Thorin stares at it in awe, and you gaze triumphantly at him. "You...made this yourself?" he near-whispers.

"Out of iron and sheer will power."

You're not prepared for when Thorin quite literally sweeps you off your feet and spins you around in an embrace. The crowd goes wild, but no one could have enjoyed the resulting kiss more than you. Thorin gazes at you exultantly and begins to sing low and in Khuzdul. The room hushes as his rich, deep voice reverberates off the high ceiling. You're not exactly sure what the song is about, but if the look in Thorin's eyes is any indication, it's a love song. You're suddenly reminded of the night you met him, seemingly ages ago, when he sang in Bag End. You never would have known then that you'd end up here.

The last note dissolves warmly into the air. You're so enchanted that you're surprised to remember the gathering around you - the gathering that is now looking at you in anticipation. You panic for half a second. You didn't prepare a song! At the speed of light you recall all the songs you'd ever heard and weigh their romantic value. You settle on one you'd heard at plenty of weddings and start to sing. Your voice is quiet and unsure at first, but steadily grows louder as you realize with delight that it's a silvery, fine sound.

"I have died everyday waiting for you; darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years...I'll love you for a thousand more..."

The world fades away as you use this song to express to Thorin everything he means to you. All the miles walked, all the nights spend on hard ground, all the bumps and bruises - you'd do it all again in a heartbeat, because you never expected to even be able to speak to him, let alone stand before him and call him your husband. You gaze into his eyes and see a love as strong as yours blazing like dragon fire in their depths.

Later you find out that Dis ordered more ale out to distract the crowd and give the two of you some privacy. You're not really sure what happened between then and the dancing; you were too caught up in Thorin.

The rest of the night is spent greeting guests, and there are plenty of guests to greet. You try to be smooth and at ease like Thorin, but you're simply too excited to act so regal. You keep up conversations just as excitedly as the other party. You're just delighted that they even want to talk to you.

A poof of caramel hair catches your eye in the thick crowd. You yank Thorin along as you weave through the people so as not to lose it. You all but attack Bilbo to gain his attention. "I'm so glad you came!" you exclaim, squishing him close.

"Of course I came!" he returns merrily. "Wouldn't miss it for the world! Oh, but I'm forgetting, that's not _really_ why I came. I must perform my political duties." He rolls his eyes before bowing exaggeratedly to Thorin.

"Is there something I'm missing?"

Thorin said with a smile, "I invited him as a dignitary, as a representative from our friends in the Shire. He was less than pleased."

"Too much of a fuss," Bilbo grumbled. "And I'm hardly diplomat material. But I'm glad to be here, regardless. I had a feeling it would happen some day."

"Excuse me!" You blush, and Thorin raises his eyebrows. "You had a feeling? Before or after I let it slip?"

"Before, of course. Aniel, you area dear friend, but you are painfully obvious."

"Nuh-uh!" you say petulantly. "When did you know?"

"Lake Town, I think. That's when we all had an idea of what was going on."

Your blush deepens. "I wasn't that obvious!"

"It's alright. You are obvious and Thorin is oblivious."

Thorin shrugs. "Fair enough. At least we have good friends to help us along, Aniel."

You recall what Fili and Balin had said about communicating your feelings and nod in agreement. Perhaps you _are_ obvious, and Thorin definitely is oblivious, but damned if your friends would let that get in the way of love, and for that, you owe them everything.

The late afternoon turns to evening, evening darkens into night, night wears on into early morning, and still the celebration rages. Gandalf lets off some fireworks in the hall; sparks gather at the high ceilings and dissolve. You and Thorin dance and mingle and laugh. You notice Fili and Sigrid talking privately in a secluded corner. The whirlwind of excitement exhausts you in time. Finally you and Thorin drag up to your room.

You fall face-down on the bed without regard to all the hard work Dis had put into your appearance. You groan into the soft mattress. You're very content with sleeping in your dress, unless Thorin would be kind enough to take it off without making you move.

"All partied out, I see," Thorin says in amusement, stoking the fire. "We'll have to work on your endurance."

"What, you're not exhausted?" Your voice is muffled by the blankets.

"I have a bit more energy left."

His tone hits you and you jump up. "Shit, I forgot!" You push your hair back into place and smooth your dress. "No, right, yeah, I totally still have energy."

Thorin chuckles and begins to undo your intricate braidwork. "I know you're tired. It was a very exciting day. We can wait."

"No! Nooo, no, no." You spin to face him. "You've already seen me naked. It's time to return the favor."

"You are never going to let me live that down!"

"No, never. So let's have it."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

You exhale slowly. "Infinitely sure."

Heat rises in your cheeks as Thorin tosses his cape to the floor. You can't quite bring yourself to watch as he undresses. Heat creeps higher in your face with each _flumph_ of dropped clothes. Sure, he's your husband now, but before that he was your crush, and before that - you bite your lip and try to regulate your breathing.

"Alright. Let us be even."

You gulp and refocus your gaze. The firelight dances over his bare skin. He's perfectly sculpted, of course, from years of battle and labor. Battle also left him with a slew of various scars, all pearly in the low light. You take this all in, a sight that at one time was only in your imagination, and feel weak in the knees.

"Your conclusion?"

"More than satisfactory," you squeak. Your voice is several octaves higher than usual. "Magical. Oh my god."

Thorin smirks and approaches you. You do your best to stay on your feet. "May I see you?" he asks in such a way that by all accounts your clothes should have just melted off.

"O-Of course..."

He takes his time undoing the various clasps and ties on your dress. You shiver at his touch. Your heart pounds in your chest. Finally the garment drops away and the heat of the fire can get at your skin unimpeded. You gulp as Thorin's eyes rove over you.

"I owe you a truth," Thorin murmurs, brushing a lock of hair over your shoulder. "When I apologized at Rivendell for, ah, _spying_ you, I said I didn't take advantage of the situation. That was not a lie. As soon as I realized it was you, I averted my eyes. But it did take a moment for me to realize."

"...Are you saying you watched me dance naked?"

"I thought I was seeing a nymph or a witch or some other such being. My point is, Aniel, that you are beautiful, enchantingly so, every inch of you."

Yet again you blush. Your eloquent, romantic response is to crush your lips to his. Thorin responds most enthusiastically. The volcano erupting in your stomach tells you that you're in for the best night of your life.

* * *

Two things: one, please don't be mad about the lack of smut. If I'd've written any, you would have turned nun after reading it regardless of your religion. Two, the song is A Thousand Years by Christina Perri. I thought it fit the mood quite nicely. Hope you enjoyed and sorry again for the delay!


	3. Hunting Party

Yes! I said I'd be better about updates! And the lovely Hristonostore has given me a list of chapter ideas that I am slowly working through, so hopefully we'll have more soon!

Also if you couldn't tell I ship Fili/Sigrid to the grave.

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

You enjoy wedded bliss for two wonderful weeks: fourteen days of Thorin kissing you goodbye as he rose early and kissing you goodnight as the pair of you drifted off beside each other. You're convinced the "honeymoon stage" will never end. That is, until two individuals you would soon come to see as pests wake you long before your usual rising time.

"Rise and shine, Aniel!" Fili's voice rouses you from a cozy slumber.

You grumble and pull the blankets over your head. "You're not Thorin, so you shouldn't be in my room."

"Don't be like that, Auntie," Kili chimes in, jumping on the bed.

" _What_ did you just call me?"

"Now that you're married to our uncle, you're our aunt!"

"Oh, I am!" You raise up and smile. "It didn't occur to me! Aw, come here!"

You yank Kili into a choking hug. He squirms and protests, but as his aunt, you figure it's your job to harass him.

Fili ignores his brother's plight. "And as your nephews, we'd like to be the ones to take you on your hunting trip!"

"Hunting trip?" The proposal distracts you long enough for Kili to escape your clutches.

"It's traditional for the family of the newlyweds to take their new in-law hunting. We figured we'd accept that honor. So get up and get dressed! We'll leave as soon as you're ready!"

"We're going now? Don't we have to prepare?"

"We've taken care of all the preparations. All that's missing is the guest of honor!"

You don't really know how to say no. Even though you're still not great at archery, you certainly want to uphold tradition, and you wouldn't mind spending some quality time with your new nephews. So you rise and get dressed and pack a few essentials, then bid farewell to your soft bed. "I'm ready," you sigh.

"Don't be so gloomy," Kili grins, nudging you with his shoulder. "We're going to have loads of fun!"

"Does Thorin know you're doing this?" you reply shrewdly.

"We left a note," Fili assures you. "We thought it'd be best if we were gone before he found out."

"He doesn't trust us." Kili shakes his head at the notion.

You roll your eyes but smile. "I couldn't imagine why."

Horses are waiting for you at the gates. The three of you thunder off across the plains towards the forest on the other side of Dale. With the wind once again blowing through your hair, you can't help but be a bit excited. It's only a small adventure, sure, but it's one you never saw coming. One thing you're sure of, however, is that shenanigans will ensue if your hunting party has anything to say about it.

Fili leads the party deep into the woods before you finally dismount and set up a small base camp. It's in a pleasant little glen with a carpet of thick, lush grass that will be lovely to sleep on. You breathe deeply the forest air and reflect that even though you love having four walls and a roof, a part of you was used to and somewhat enjoyed roughing it.

"I hope you know that I'm terrible at archery," you inform them.

"An Elf who's bad at archery!" Kili laughs. "You _are_ strange!"

" _You're_ strange," you retort. "Who ever heard of a Dwarf with a bow?"

"You're lucky I _do_ have a bow; who else is going to teach you?"

You're stumped at that. Fili carves a target on a nearby tree while you and Kili ready your bows. Kili goes first and hits very close to the center. You wrinkle your nose. There's no way you'll do so well. You nock an arrow and loose it, hoping for the best. It flies and hits the tree, though not the designated target. You feel accomplished anyway, because it still would have been a hit if the tree was an enemy.

Kili tuts. "No one ever taught you how to shoot, did they?"

"No. I've been winging it all this time."

"Well, you're not _bad_ , but your stance needs work. Your feet - those look fine - but your back arm is too low. It should be parallel with the ground if you're shooting straight..."

Kili pokes and nudges your posture while Fili looks on in amusement. You finally stand in what you assume is the correct position, and it's very uncomfortable to your untrained muscles. You imagine you resemble a statue of Adonis, and you might just freeze in this position if you hold it any longer.

"The feathers should just brush your cheek when you draw back...yes, like that...alright, now give it a try!"

Bearing in mind everything Kili just told you, you loose another arrow at the tree. It's no bullseye, but it's further than halfway. You receive a cheer for your victory. Encouraged, you take a few more shots. None of them are too far off.

Kili nods approvingly. "Excellent. I'm sure you'll bring something home at the end of the trip."

You stretch your shoulders; your muscles are tense from standing in the same calculated way for so long. "Who taught you to shoot?" you ask.

"Frerin did." Kili smiles slightly at the memory. "I was always playing with his bow, so he made me one and taught me to use it. I was young when Azanulbizar took place, but I'll always miss Frerin."

"What was he like?" You'd never thought to ask Thorin about his brother, not that you'd know how to approach the topic.

Fili answers, "He was like us. Or more, we're like him. He had a great sense of humor. Always lighthearted, always joking. He'd tell us stories about how he'd drag Thorin out to get in trouble. Some of the things they got up to were incredible. I wish he were still alive. Things would be different if he were."

"Different how?"

"Thorin would be different, for one. He changed after Frerin died. Not that I blame him..." Fili glances briefly at Kili. "Thorin was always more disciplined, being the eldest, but he let loose more often around Frerin. Laughed more."

"I reckon that's why we annoy him so much," Kili says sagely.

"You don't annoy him..." you begin immediately.

"No, of course we do. I make an effort to. It's worth it when he laughs. But we remind him too much of Frerin, I guess, so that's why he's harsh sometimes."

You're not quit sure what to say. The connection makes sense. You also should have known Kili knew more than he let on. He always was smart in a quiet way. "I wish I could have met him," you say softly.

"He would've like you. But then, it's hard not to."

You flush at the compliment. "Kili..."

"No, it's true." Fili regards you fondly. "I remember you had Kili hoodwinked one day in."

"I was not _hoodwinked_ ," Kili argues.

"Oh? I've never seen you be so nice to a stranger."

"She was nice to me! Why wouldn't I be nice back?"

"But why _were_ you so nice?" Fili asks, tilting his head. "Was it to make Thorin like you?"

You laugh. "No, I knew that was a lost cause. I don't know, I guess I'm just a nice person. I enjoy being kind to others. Is that a bad thing?"

"It's certainly unique. But you make Thorin happy, and that means a great deal to us."

"If only because he's less grumpy now," Kili adds in an undertone.

"I'm glad," you say sincerely. "I came here to try to make the world a better place. It's good to know I'm succeeding."

The three of you talk for so long that you forget it's a hunting trip until the sun is long gone and Kili jumps up and grabs his bow. "It's time to go!" he says excitedly. "There should be plenty of deer out, so let's go find one!"

You sigh; you were enjoying the conversation. But you're a good sport, so you gather up your things and follow the boys out of the glen.

You walk in silence for a long while. You have no idea where the trail leads or if you're even on a trail. You simply follow with noiseless footsteps as Fili tracks and Kili keeps watch.

Suddenly Kili moves quickly; in one fluid motion he sends an arrow into the low bushes. He charges after it without waiting to see if it hit and comes back with a rabbit and a wide smirk. "You're falling behind, Auntie," he taunts.

"How did you even see that?!" you demand.

"It's just natural hunter instinct."

"Natural hunter instinct, my ass," you mutter. "Fili, find me a deer or something so I can show your brother how it's done!"

A few minutes later, Fili halts and crouches down. "Up there," he whispers. "Look. See if you can hit it."

To the right of the trail, grazing on a patch of grass, is a buck. He's perfectly unaware of your presence at the moment. You hurry to load an arrow before that changes. You take a deep breath to steady your aim as butterflies erupt in your stomach. You desperately want this kill, if only to prove to yourself that you're capable of catching food in the wild.

The first arrow flies over the buck's back and lands in the foliage. You suck in a breath and freeze; the buck lifts its head and looks around for the source of the disturbance. Ever so slowly, you nock another arrow and will it to find its target.

This time the buck yelps in pain and takes off through the trees. Kili and Fili whoop and pat you on the back. "I didn't kill it, though," you say, confused.

"Of course you did!" Fili beams. "You hit it in the neck! We'll have to track it down and finish the job. Come on!"

You stumble after them, laughing breathlessly. You never expected to hit your first mark! Perhaps you'll save the antlers as a memento.

You follow the blood-painted leaves and eventually find the buck in a heap on the ground. Its breathing is labored and its eyes are wild with fear. You suddenly feel sorry for it. "Can you kill it quickly so it doesn't suffer anymore?" you ask.

"Of course." Fili draws a dagger and slits the animal's throat. The buck stills in seconds. "There. Didn't feel a thing."

Kili bows to you. "I concede, then, Auntie. 'Course, I'm the one that taught you to shoot, but never mind that."

"So what do we do with it now?" you ask.

"Take it home and cook it, of course! Only not now, since it's the middle of the night. Let's haul it back to camp."

The boys drag the heavy buck through the woods, leaving you to celebrate. You're quite pleased with yourself; you didn't expect to get a kill tonight, and certainly not such a big one. You feel like you can now truly live like a Ranger, sleeping on the ground and hunting your own food, living a life full of responsibility and danger and -

"Oh no, it's raining!" You pull your hood up as droplets that penetrated the canopy begin to drip from the leaves.

The rain drives you and the boys (and the dead deer) under a particularly thick cluster of branches. Kili lights another fire and the three of you enjoy his rabbit for dinner. You get comfortable amongst the roots of the tree, ready to call it a night, but the boys are too excited from the successful hunt to sleep. You leave them to their chatter and close your eyes.

"Auntie, don't go to sleep!" Kili tickles your side. "Stay up and talk to us!"

"About what?" you whine. "I'm tired from my great victory over nature."

Fili joins in on the heckling. "Tell us a story!"

"A story? I don't have any stories. Literally everything interesting I've done has been with the company."

"Then tell us why you joined in the first place. I always wondered why you were so adamant in coming."

"You know why I joined. I wanted to help Thorin reclaim Erebor."

"But why? I never truly understood. I don't think you ever really explained it."

"That all seems so long ago..." You look off into the trees, remembering. It wasn't long ago, however; it's been less than two years since that fateful day when you stumbled upon Bag End. "I always loved Thorin, did you know?"

"Aww, Auntie, that's beautiful," Kili teases.

You ignore him. "So when I knew that he would die at Ravenhill, I decided to stop that."

"Thorin was to die at Ravenhill?" Fili repeats, aghast.

"Yes. Did I never tell you? Azog would have killed him. So I decided to come along and keep that from happening."

"That _is_ beautiful," Kili says again, but more sincerely. "Did you know that you would end up married?"

"Ha! Married? I didn't think he'd ever be civil to me, let alone love me!"

"But you came along anyway?"

You shrug. "I had to save him. That was all I cared about. The fact that we ended up here is just the best of luck."

Fili nods thoughtfully. "It is good luck. You're good for each other. I'm glad you're family now, Aniel."

Overcome with a surge of emotion, you grab both of them into a hug. You can't tell them that they were supposed to die as well - you don't want to burden them with that knowledge - but all of the sudden you're overwhelmingly glad that they're here with you. "I am honored to be your aunt," you say quietly. "And I am ready to fulfill all the duties that come with that post, including spoiling and bothering the two of you."

"Bothering?" Fili looks up at you.

"Yes, bothering, starting with this: I saw you talking to Sigrid alone at the reception!"

Kili cackles as Fili turns pink. "I was showing her Dwarven hospitality," he says pointedly.

"Right, hospitality. Of course. I totally buy that."

"As prince, I have certain diplomatic duties - "

"Oh, _please_ ," Kili says loudly, "I'm a prince too but you don't see me using that to impress women!"

"That's because you already have a woman!"

You sit back, satisfied with the chaos you've created. In the beginning, you looked up to Fili and Kili. Now when they call you Auntie, you feel incredibly old yet somehow powerful. But at times like this, when it's just bantering and laughing with the whole world before you, you feel pleasantly equal with them, and you suppose that's how family is supposed to feel.

You plod back into Erebor early the next afternoon, damp and chilled and tired but in very good spirits. Fili and Kili carry the deer in like it's a slain enemy lord, much to your embarrassment. You're glad to see Thorin waiting for you in the entrance hall; he welcomes you in with a hug and a kiss.

"It seems you had a good time," he comments, looking at the deer.

"A great time! I'll admit I wasn't convinced when they were on about hunting, but it turned out a lot better than expected. And I got a deer!"

"That was good of you to take her out," Thorin says approvingly to his nephews. "Did you get in any trouble?"

"Oh, loads," Kili says solemnly. "We had to fight through an entire goblin army to get this deer. Then there was a flood, and a rock slide, and - "

"You're hilarious." Thorin grabs Kili and musses his hair, causing the latter to laugh. You recall what Kili said about purposely bothering Thorin and smile. "Alright, get that to the kitchen before it spoils. Go on!"

"I killed a deer," you say again, proudly, to drive the point home of how thrilled you are.

"Indeed you did, love. I'm sure it will be delicious. Would you like the antlers to remember your first hunt by?"

"I would, actually. It's a funny tradition for Dwarves, though, don't you think?"

"What?" Thorin looks at you.

"Hunting. I would think making a chest or mining something would be more fitting, but who am I to argue?"

"There's...no hunting tradition among Dwaves."

"What? But that's what Kili said when he - "

The way Thorin raises his eyebrows at the phrase "Kili said" makes it all painfully clear. You stare in the direction of the kitchens, contemplating serious physical injury.

"It looks like he got you, love."

"Looks like it."

"Don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to get him back."

"Oh, I look foward to it."


	4. Duties, Part 1

Hahaha, Onediel didn't have to remind me this time! So my excuse this time is that I was on vacation and I had NO WIFI. I mean, not that that meant I was writing, but in my defense I was seeing my two baby cousins for the first time. Now I'm racing to finish two cosplays before comic con this weekend, but I found time to crank this out. I think the next bit will be the first visit to Rivendell, something I've been excited to do. Thanks for your patience and for anyone who reads both, Will of Tides should be up soon or middle of next week!

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

The fire is warm and the bed is comfortable and you're tired and Thorin is _not cooperating_. He's at his desk, oblivious to the world and all your small impatient noises. Stacks of parchment and candles in various stages of melting are arranged around him.

You've finally had enough of indirectly trying to get his attention; you are ready for bed _now_. You march across the room and firmly drape yourself across his shoulders. Thorin nuzzles you absently but doesn't look up.

"Okay, I'll bite. What is so pressing that you refuse to get in our fantastic bed and go to sleep?"

"Duties, my dear."

"Is that what you call this fire hazard? What are you doing?"

"Answering letters and writing them, putting in requisitions and orders for essentials, working out zoning issues and land claims..."

"Geez. You do that often?"

"Almost every day, be it in person or on paper."

You watch his quill dance across the present document, deep in thought. You knew Thorin had to have certain obligations as king - he's the leader of the entire kingdom - but it hasn't occurred to you until now the extent of those obligations. "Shouldn't...shouldn't I be doing something too?"

"Hm?" At this, Thorin looks up at you.

"Well, I mean...I'm the queen, aren't I? Don't I have responsibilities as well?"

"I haven't started a war yet, so there's no need for diplomacy." Thorin chuckles at his own joke.

"Oh, you're hilarious. So you're telling me that I have literally nothing to do unless it's defusing potentially deadly conflicts?"

"Believe it or not, love, I have things well in hand. I've delegated tasks to advisors I trust, and they've done an admirable job. Though if for some reason I'm unable to do my duty, all of it will pass to you."

"I'm not looking to take your job," you say quickly. You can only imagine how stressful it must be. "I just want to do _something_ , because it feels like I haven't been doing _anything_."

"Other than being regent, you already are my closest confidant, and that's no work for you. Other than that, queens are usually the social face of the monarchy..."

"Social?" you repeat, interested. "I like being social. Is there any social event I need to be in charge of?"

Thorin smiles and pulls you into his lap. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you know everything that's going on!"

"We are equal, you and I. You needn't ask before doing anything. Er, well, knowing you, let me say you needn't ask before doing _most_ things. If you want a social event, plan one."

"Just like that?" you ask wonderingly.

"Just like that."

You take a moment to process the concept. You're allowed to plan whatever social event you want. You could have a festival, or hold a beauty pageant, or start the Olympics. The possibilities are endless, because the resources are endless. The prospect is thrilling and a bit intimidating.

"I'm glad you have a good head on your shoulders," you say, snuggling into his shoulder. "So much power could easily be abused."

"Perhaps by others, but in Dwarven culture, the monarchs are considered the father and mother of their people. I would only want the best for my children, so I only want the best for my people."

You smile sleepily. "I like that idea."

Thorin sweeps you up and carries you towards the bed. "You are half asleep, love."

"I'm too big for you to carry!" you protest.

"You will never be too big for me to carry."

You wake with a fire and purpose inspired by your dreams. Thorin is already gone, as usual, but that's okay. You want to take this first step by yourself. Anyway, he said you don't need to ask permission. The possibilities and power are endless in front of you, and you intend to start with a bang.

You quickly but neatly write out a notice and run shamelessly down to the main atrium, one of the larger hubs in the Mountain. Passers-by slow and look as you pin the parchment on a pillar. You smile and wave an arm, inviting them to take a look.

 _Lady Aniel excitedly invites all of the children of Erebor to join her for an afternoon of fresh air and flower crowns. Meet in the entrance hall at noon a week from today. We will be back before evening. I look forward to a wonderful day!_

 _Your Servant,_

 _Lady Aniel_

Intrigued exclamations pop up from those who stopped to read the notice. You're thrilled that they seem interested and hope that a week will be enough time for the word to spread. You want as good a turn out as possible for your first attempt at performing your queenly duty.

You're bursting to tell any relevant person about your foray into new territory. By chance it's Thorin you run into; the second you register it's him, the news tumbles forth. "I'm doing a thing!" you say in a rush, almost too excited to be coherent.

"Oh?" Thorin looks up with a smile and finishes signing something with a flourish. "What thing are you doing, my lady?"

"A social event, just like you suggested! I'm taking all the kids out to the field in front of Dale, the one with all the wildflowers, and I'm going to teach them how to make flower crowns!"

"That's wonderful, love - and quite ambitious. You think you can handle so many Dwarf children alone?"

"Yes," you say almost defiantly.

"Alright. I'm very glad that you're so excited. I don't assume that you need any help, but if you do..."

"Honestly, I don't think I will. I picked something very easy on purpose. You said that we're the parents, so I want to get to know all of my kids!"

You had no idea then just what you were getting yourself into.

Your anticipation makes the days drag by, but _finally_ it's a week later and time to descend to the entrance hall. The brilliant smile you have in place slides off your face when you see them - _all of them_. There are no less than several hundred Dwarf children all packed into the already spacious chamber. They're chattering excitedly; the noise is a dull roar. You swallow all the sudden second thoughts and call, "Uh, kids?"

You can't even hear the words as they come out. Undaunted, you let loose a shrill whistle that echoes off the stone walls. The children jump and look for the source of the sound. You wave from your position on the stairs. They cheer and bow and curtsy.

"Okay kids, are you ready to have a great afternoon?"

The response is deafening. You assume it's an affirmative and wade through the sea of waist-high bodies that are your charges for the next several hours.

At last the entire gathering manages to migrate out of the Mountain, across the plains, and to the field of flowers that is your destination. The trip alone takes almost an hour and leaves you already exhausted.

A boulder gives you the height advantage that you need to call the children to order. They're quite well-behaved; they sit on the ground and look up at you with rapt attention. Never before has your rank served you so well.

"So...um...I'm glad you're all here!" you begin a bit awkwardly. "I've been looking forward to today all week! I thought we'd spend the afternoon enjoying the sunshine and making flower crowns. So, uh, if you guys want to pick ten to fifteen flowers with long stems and then sit back down..."

The children follow your instructions before you finish giving them. They scamper around, yanking up handfuls of daisies and Queen Anne's lace and corn flowers and shrieking with laughter. You watch over them, making sure none stray too far, until after another hour everyone is satisfied with their haul. You ppick your own small bouquet for demonstration purposes.

"So it's pretty easy...you start with a loop, like this...and it's okay if you break the stem, you can just pick a new one...and then you weave the next stem into the first..."

"Majesty, I need help!" one high-pitched voice cries out. This launches a chorus of similar requests for aid. Foreseeing the possibility of spending the rest of your life with one-on-one lessons, you instead divide the ones having trouble into circles of twelve.

You visit each group individually, correcting where necessary with an amount of patience you never knew you had. Well, that wasn't quite true - you hadn't killed Thorin during the quest, which required an enormous measure of patience. But every child is respectful and well-mannered. It occurs to you that it's because they view you as the queen, something you hadn't quite managed to do yourself.

The result of three hours of repeating the same lesson over and over is an army of flower-laden Dwarf children running free in the field. Some play tag, some remain seated to manufacture more chains, and a number of the older children sit near you while you keep watch from your boulder. You're thrilled to talk with them, possibly as thrilled as they are to talk to you. You ask them about their everyday lives, their hobbies, what their parents do, everything you can think of that you've always wanted to know. Their answers will surely be relevant on a more political scale later, but presently you're just fascinated at this whole new insight into Dwarven culture. In return, you divulge a bit of what it's like to be royalty.

"When did you fall in love with King Thorin?" a girl name Nula asked. The other girls in the circle giggled madly.

You laugh loudly. You expected this question. "At first sight," you reply with a smile. This earns another storm of giggles.

"But you're an Elf!" a boy exclaims. "How come you fell in love with a Dwarf? And how come King Thorin fell in love with you?"

"You can't always help who you fall in love with," you say easily. "Look at Kili and Tauriel. It just happens sometimes when two people with similar likes and dislikes get to know each other. Never shoot down a person because of their race. Get to know them before you decide you don't like them."

"But if you loved King Thorin at first sight, how did you know you had similar likes and dislikes?"

"I - " You squint at the boy, wondering if he's being obstinate or not. He seems to shrink back under your gaze. You smile at him to let him know you're not mad. "The reason I loved him at first sight is because I already knew of him. Foresight, you know."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

The sun is sinking low now, and you promised to have everyone back in Erebor before nightfall. You give a great call that echoes across the plain and draws the children back. "I've had such a wonderful day with you all," you tell them. "I hope you all had fun as well!"

The children scream and jump up and down.

"Okay, good! Unfortunately, we have to go home. I promised your parents we'd be back before dark, so let's get going!"

The parade back to the Mountain brings with it the heavy scent of flowers. Parents are waiting at the doors to pick up their children. One by one your party breaks up and runs to their families waving fists full of flower chains and ready to recount the afternoon. The rosy cheeks and bright eyes on every small face let you know beyond a doubt that the outing was a smash hit.

After bidding the last child farewell, you climb the stairs to your room and while doing so desperately wish escalators had already been invented. You fall face first on the bed and kick off your shoes. The door opens again a few minutes later and a quiet chuckle reaches your ears. "Rough day?"

"No," you yawn, "it was fun, but you were right, that was a _lot_ of kids to keep up with. How do you do it every day?"

"Simple: I'm not keeping up with kids."

"Fair enough." You roll over and lazily grab for him. "Come here and let me put flowers in your hair."

"What? Flowers?"

"Yes, flowers! It's gonna be all the rage in like a week, and the king of all people should be wearing the latest fashion."

Thorin did not deny you - he never does - so you spend the rest of the evening undoing your chains and placing the flowers in his braid and beard. The end result is an amusing but somehow fitting contrast to the hardened warrior you've seen in action; now he looks like some sort of rustic wood nymph. You voice this opinion to him and he tickles you until you can't breathe.

Later you find out that you overestimated how long it would take for flower crowns to become the latest trend and underestimated your influence. You guessed a week. You see the inhabitants of Erebor blooming in three days.


	5. Duties, Part 2

I know I said I was going to start the Rivendell arc but screw that I'm having too much fun with Your Majesty.

Alternate title: You Bullshit An Entirely New Legal System Into Place Without Consulting Thorin

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

When you said you intended to take on more duties, you had no idea what you signed up for.

You have a heart attack and a half when Thorin first gets sick. All that runs through your head is the lack of hospitals, the lack of antibiotics, no IVs, no defibrillators, no modern medicine of any kind. You're completely convinced he's dying until Oin visits and announces that it's just a small flu. He puts Thorin on bed rest until he's completely healed; it's more of a quarantine, because in the closeness Mountain, illness can spread to devastating effect.

Thorin is irate upon hearing this, but you put your foot all the way down with Dis watching menacingly in the background. "I have a kingdom to run!" he protests. "I cannot do that from this bed!"

"Fortunately for you, you have someone to do that for you," you reply smartly. "You _will_ stay in this bed until you're better, Thorin."

"And you're going to run the kingdom in my stead?"

You squint. "Is that a note of derision I detect in your tone?"

"Of course not. But it is a...demanding job, and for you to just jump right into it would be very stressful on you."

"Dis can help me. And Fili and Kili."

Thorin groans and puts a pillow over his head.

"Don't be an ass," Dis says dismissively. "You'll stay in bed if you know what's good for you, because if you don't, one of us will sit here and watch you, and that will be less help for Aniel."

"I'll not forget this," Thorin grumbles. "This is mutiny."

"I'll come check on you when I can," you tell him gently. "Or you can send for me at any time. And please take all the medicines Oin gives you."

"I don't like being useless."

You kiss his pouted lips. "You're not useless, darling. You're sick. It happens to everyone. Just focus on getting better and we'll take care of the rest."

"Will you promise to tell me if you're overwhelmed?"

"Of course."

"You're lying."

"Yep. Now drink some water and settle down. I need to figure out a plan of attack."

You and Dis exit to round up Fili and Kili. She rants as you walk, "He's always like that when he's sick. Thinks any minute he's not working is a minute wasted."

"Well, he's gonna rest and get better whether he grumps about it or not," you say resolutely. "I have no idea what I'm walking into, but you can be damn sure I'll come out on top."

"That's the spirit. And we'll all do our part. I'm proud of you, Ani, for how you're stepping up. You've come a long way from that shy lass who bowed to me at first meeting."

"No I haven't," you say easily. "I'm just a better actor now."

You, Dis, Kili, and Fili gather around a table to work out a battle plan. You assign them jobs based on their strengths. Dis continues her usually shared position of regulating the mining, manufacturing, and industrial elements of the kingdom. Fili is in charge of trade matters and requisitions. Kili gets the joy of being your personal assistant, because although you're more than willing to attempt to run things, you aren't about to do that without someone raised with Dwarf culture and laws.

"Mahal have mercy on our souls," Kili sighs.

"It'll be fine," you tell him, and when you look back on the memory of saying that, you kind of want to go back in time and punch yourself.

Your personal assignment is conflict resolution, because if there's one skill you have, it's calming angry Dwarves. You travel all over, even visiting places you've never seen before, settling disputes of every kind. You're not completely surprised at the level of disagreement, given the stubborn, aggressive nature of Dwarves. Then Kili mentions that it seems like a pretty peaceful day, and you kind of want to cry.

One of these disputes quite literally changes the course of history. It's an argument over mining claim; both parties say they had the plot first, but a third neutral witness confirms that neither of them officially registered for ownership. This incident is at the end of the work day, so your nerves are more than a little frayed from listening to bickering all day. You do your best to hear both sides of the story, but all the yelling is giving you a headache.

"Why don't you just Rock, Paper, Scissors for it?" you finally interrupt, rubbing your temples.

"What?" the black-bearded Dwarf looks at you.

"What, what?"

"What was Your Majesty's suggestion?"

It hits you that there's no way any of them have ever heard of Rock, Paper, Scissors before. Under other circumstances, you would have dismissed your previous statement and figured out a real solution. But you're tired and a little irritable and worried about Thorin, so you set to work bullshitting.

"Rock, Paper, Scissors is a method of deciding that leaves the decision up to random fate," you say in a very scholarly tone, as if what you're saying is completely legit and not ripped right from a kindergarten playground. "Whoever is involved holds up a hand gesture - a fist for rock, an open palm for paper, or two fingers for scissors. Paper covers rock and wins, scissors cut paper and wins, and rock smashes scissors and wins. You decide what gesture to hold up and you can't change it after the once-twice-shoot. Then the two players - er, parties - compare gestures and see who wins. Best out of three wins, and you have to have a neutral third party present to ensure no one cheats. That way you can resolve things fairly and impartially while still having a say in what is done."

The two Dwarves and Kili gape at you, dumbfounded. You're not even sorry that you just authorized the most juvenile of decision making methods as an official and binding contract.

"That's...brilliant, M'lady," the white-bearded Dwarf murmurs. "Would you give us a demonstration before we try?"

"Sure." You turn to Kili and ready your fist. "So, Kili, on shoot..."

You hold up paper and Kili chooses scissors. You turn to the Dwarves. "So you see, Kili wins because scissors cut paper."

Kili looks thrilled.

The two Dwarves play the first recorded game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Black beard beats white in the end and wins the rights to the plot, and the latter isn't even mad. They thank you for your help and disperse.

"Did you come up with that on your own?" Kili demands. "That's amazing! Show it to me again!"

"Kili, I'm going to tell you this because I know you'll appreciate it, but don't tell anyone else."

"What is it?"

"Rock, Paper, Scissors is a children's game."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah. It's how kids decide stuff like what game to play or who gets the first turn with the new toy. But I'm exhausted so now it's a legally sanctioned decision making process."

Kili looks at you seriously. "Aniel, you are _exactly_ the type of person I want in charge."

You finally retire for the day to check on Thorin and then sleep. You press your lips to his forehead in greeting; he's still too warm for your liking. "How do you feel, honey?" you ask sympathetically.

"Somewhat better than directly after the battle for Erebor," he returns thoughtfully.

"That good?"

"No, awful."

"Awful? You _survived_ the battle for Erebor!"

"Recall that you almost died before I could express my love for you."

"Are you literally always romantic?"

He shrugs. "I missed you today."

You snuggle up next to him. "What do you need? More water? A damp cloth?"

"Just your presence. And...perhaps more water and a damp cloth."

You laugh and fetch these things. Thorin rumbles in contentment when the cool cloth hits his skin. You kiss his head and say, "I'm sorry you don't feel well."

"I'm not dying," he says plainly. "Just feel like I rolled down the entire mountain, and a bit congested. You worry too much."

You peer into his eyes, and can see that, at least for him, his description of his state is accurate and he's not downplaying anything. "Alright. I'm still going to worry, but you know your body best. Let's get some rest; I've had a _long_ day."

"Yes, how did it go?"

"Long. A bit annoying. Oh, and I created an entirely new legal system."

"You did _what?_ "

"Night, Thorin."


	6. Duties, Part 3

Okay, here's what I assume will be the end of the Duties arc. Let it be known throughout the lands that Your Majesty is not to be trifled with!

Some of this deals with Silmarillion history, which I haven't ready yet, so I had to do some digging. Fortunately there seems to be a lot of "he said, she said" surrounding the matter that lets this plot work. If those of you who have actually read Silm find some issues...well...shhhhhh i did my best ok

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

Thorin sleeps fitfully that night and for several nights after, frequently woken by coughing fits. You worry that he's not getting enough rest, but Oin (who has been so comforting and helpful that you wonder if there's some sort of royal medal you can give him) assures you that it's just part of the illness. You do what you can for him, but you're quite swamped with queening and it's beginning to take its toll.

Your squad seems to be similarly worn, you notice at the evening's regular meeting. There is no conversation as each of you write out your daily report. Dis' brow is furrowed deeper than usual as she squints at the words, Fili looks half-asleep, and Kili's quill is almost moving too slow to make a sentence. He's surely the most tired, as he recently got promoted to diplomatic relations.

"Oh." It's Fili who breaks the silence with a quiet exclamation of memory. He withdraws a folded parchment from a pocket. "This came with the requisition bunch today. I think it was supposed to go to Kili since it's got a seal on it - from the Firebeards, I think - "

Dis starts so suddenly that she scratches a hole in her paper with the quill. "Did you say Firebeards?!" she shouts, now wide awake. "Give it here!"

Dis snatches the letter and holds it next to the most hardy candle. You and Fili exchange glances. "Is there a problem?" you ask timidly.

Dis is too engrossed in the letter to respond. She abruptly slams it down with a growl in Khuzdul that sounds very much like it should be a curse, one you haven't learned. "Ardath Firebeard," she grinds out. "He will arrive tomorrow."

"Uh...I don't know who that is?"

"He rules some of the lands in the Blue Mountains. He is the head of the Firebeard clan, one of the Seven Dwarf Families. And will be here tomorrow afternoon."

"I can tell by your tone that this is a bad thing, but I'd like to know _why_ it's bad so that I can respond accordingly."

"The Firebeards _hate_ Elves."

"Okay? That's not a big deal to me anymore. Everyone here used to hate Elves."

"No, lass." Dis looks at you seriously. "The Firebeards are sworn enemies of the Elves ever since the Elves destroyed their home in Nogrod. Ardath was unmoved by your actions in the battle for Erebor, and he is irate that you now rule with Thorin. Thorin told me of this months ago, but with all of the excitement of late - "

You sink back in your chair. You remember a bit about the Ossiriand Elves attacking Nogrod - it was literally ages ago - and you can understand why the Firebeards would hate Elves. "So...is he coming with an army?" you ask weakly.

"No." Dis consults the letter again. "It is not an attack, but Ardath promised to _set things straight_. I can only imagine what that means."

"Thorin's not well enough to meet with him," Fili says. "Is there no way we can delay him?"

"It says they intend to arrive by tomorrow. There would be no way to get a message to them, and besides, it is no short journey from the Blue Mountains. It pains me to say it, but it may be best just to let him come."

"But what will we do once he arrives?"

"I'll take care of it. If he has on his mind what I think he does, I'll have more than a few words for - "

"No." You say the word without meaning to; they look at you. "I appreciate the thought, Dis, but you don't have to protect me. If he's coming to have words, then we'll have words, but I can't hide behind you. I'll need support, but I'll face him."

Dis shakes her head slowly. "You're a brave lass. Brave and stupid. If you insist on meeting him, I'll support you, but I cannot promise to hold my tongue."

"We all will," Kili says firmly. "We'll make them understand that not all Elves are enemies."

"Thank you," you say gratefully. "I won't be able to do it without you guys. I need a few witnesses so I don't run and hide when he walks in the door."

The matter weighs heavily on you as you plod up the stairs to your room. Thorin is still up - it's his custom to wait for you - and you can't quite look him in the eye as you kiss him and refill his water. You have a very strong feeling that he had no intention of telling you of Ardath's visit, and while you do appreciate the sentiment, it's also a bit annoying; you're supposed to be in this together, and you feel like you deserve a chance to represent yourself. Also, if Thorin _had_ handled it alone, it probably would have resulted in war.

"Hard day?" he asks sympathetically when you finally fall into bed.

"You have no idea."

"Perhaps tomorrow will be easier."

You laugh somewhat hysterically at the well-meaning statement. "I rather doubt it."

"Why? Has something gone wrong?"

"Never you mind." You roll over and snuggle into his side. "Hey...when you married me, did a lot of people oppose it?"

He looks down at you with a frown. "Why do you ask?"

"I find I have a better appreciation for politics these days."

"There were some who were...less than agreeable. I told them that they could bring their concerns straight to me, and it turned out that having an Elf queen was preferable."

You grin. "I'm not surprised."

"But the people love you, Aniel. Some just needed time to get used to the idea."

"Yeah..." You hope that Ardath 'just needs time'. "One more question: would you be mad if I accidentally or otherwise start a war before you get better?"

"Mad?" Thorin chuckles and pulls you in. "I would be prouder than I could say."

Now that Thorin is aware of the possibility of him walking back on the job to find a horde of angry Dwarves at the gate, you feel that you've prepared as much as you can for the next day. All that's left is to work up the nerve to actually get out of the bed when the sun rises.

You wake up early, having not slept well anyway, and dress as Dwarvishly as possible. Dis and the boys meet you at the top of the grand staircase with grim expressions like they're walking to your funeral. You take a deep breath and descend. You don't have long to wait before the gatekeeper heralds the arrival.

Ardath Firebeard more than lives up to his name: his magnificent mane is violently red, giving the appearance that his head is engulfed in flames. His bearing is proud; his stance, that of a warrior. There is another with him, a less confident-looking Dwarf who looks for all the world like he could never be more embarrassed. The family resemblance suggests that this might be Ardath's son.

Before you can even get out a greeting, Ardath says in a booming voice, "I came to meet with the King Under the Mountain."

"I'm afraid King Thorin is not well," you reply with as much decorum as you can muster. "He has been ill for about a week now. I would be glad to meet with you in his stead."

"Ill, is it? Convenient and not. I wish him well; he'll need it. You are Lady Aniel, then?"

"At your service."

Ardath looks you over from head to toe and shakes his head. "And an Elf, no less. I had hoped the news was merely sensationalism, but it appears Thorin has indeed married an Elf."

You blink at his open hostility, but at the same time feel somewhat calmer. You're more than used to dealing with direct dislike - that was Thorin for at least half the quest. It was disgust veiled by pleasantries that you feared, though it seems Ardath has neither the time nor patience for fronts.

"Alright," you say easily, "you don't like Elves. Understandable, given your history with them. So let's just get everything out in the open. Do you want to talk now, or shall I have someone show you to your room?"

"We'll have it out now! Outside, if you please - I'll not lash a lady under her own roof."

You gulp but follow him outside the gates. Your entourage follows closely. You line up responses and retorts to what you imagine he might say. Your best consolation is that no matter what Ardath says or how angry he gets, it's not like he can do anything about it.

"You've bewitched him, then, have you?" Ardath growls before you have a chance to open the conversation civilly. "Bewitched Thorin Oakenshield to marry off his throne to you?"

The suggestion kills all possibility of civility. "No!" you exclaim, offended. "How could you say that? I love Thorin, and he loves me!"

"The Thorin I know would never love an Elf!"

"The Thorin _you_ know? What do _you_ know of him?"

"Thorin led his people to the Blue Mountains after the fall of Erebor. He settled near us for a time. The hatred for Elfkind was heavy in his heart. So do not expect me to believe that he could love an Elf-witch who is fully capable of enchanting him!"

"I did _not_ ," you snap, taking a step closer to Ardath. "I am _not_ capable of enchanting him, and I'd never do it even if I was! If you really have heard stories of me, you'd know that I followed Thorin on his quest and helped him reclaim Erebor because I wanted him to be able to fulfill his birthright. Because I loved him, and I love him now."

"Your lies are weak. Elves have no regard but for their own interests."

"Alright, you've clearly inherited some prejudice. I can't remember exactly what happened at Nogrod, but are you really telling me you believe that every single Elf has it out for Dwarves?"

"I've not been proven wrong yet! The Elves of Ossiriand destroyed my ancestors' city. Then the Elves of Mirkwood turned away from the destruction of Erebor. So show me one Elf that has the good of any Dwarf at heart!"

"You're looking at one! I never expected to be in this position when we started out, but I'm here and I'm responsible for everyone in this Mountain! I'm learning Khuzdul and Dwarvish history and culture and law because I want to be the best mother and queen I can be! And in the end, I don't give a damn what you think. What I do care about is if my people are happy and safe and that my husband loves me."

The field rings with silence after your declaration. Ardath seems shocked that you spoke to him in such a way. You're satisfied that you managed to render him speechless, but also somewhat worried about what the next step will be.

"Father," a quiet voice says. You wouldn't have known it was Ardath's son had he not turned to him. "Perhaps she is sincere."

"Daegath! You would side with her, an Elf and a stranger?" Ardath demands.

Daegath shakes his head. "I have no more love for Elves than you, but the way she speaks is too passionate for one with no personal stake in things."

"Of course she has a personal stake! Exploitation, perhaps, or whatever purpose for which she wants the throne."

"Perhaps...but if we could speak with King Thorin, he could clear up the matter."

"Recall that he is ill, as they say - cursed is more likely, or poisoned - "

"How _dare_ you!" Hot rage explodes through your veins at the insinuation. That he could think that you would - ! A red haze tinges the edge of your vision. You pull out your axe.

Dis gasps behind you. Daegath looks shocked at your audacity. Ardath roars, "You challenge me?!"

"For my love and your insolence, I do challenge you!"

Ardath charges and you meet him. Your axes lock; he swings his violently and yours goes flying. You have to roll quickly out of the way to retrieve it and avoid decapitation. It is now three seconds into your first duel, that you're starting to wish that you'd been able to hold your temper.

The guards on the gates stream down and form a semicircle around you and Ardath. Some of them arm themselves, but none try to intervene - except Dwalin, who is restrained by Fili and Kili. Daegath watches nervously next to them; you're pretty sure he's more worried about you than his father. Dis is absent. Perhaps she elected not to watch you get chopped up. You don't blame her.

Ardath is a formidable warrior, far more skilled than any you've faced so far. He has the strength of a troll with none of the clunkiness. You're on the defensive, choosing instead to block and parry than attack. Although you like the _thought_ of cracking that thick skull, you don't really want to kill Ardath if at all possible. It would probably cause more problems than it would solve. Still, the fact that Thorin basically gave you permission to start a war is something that never leaves the back of your mind...

Ardath's blows are relentless. His footwork is impeccable. You would have liked to have him during the battle for Erebor; he probably could have taken on one entire army by himself. Despite what you thought was your considerable training, you're tiring quickly. Fear begins to replace the rage that ignited the battle. Is Ardath fighting to kill? If you surrendered, could he be persuaded to have mercy? No, probably not - he would likely see it as cowardice and remove your head. You have no choice but to either win or die with honor. And the way the fight is going, the odds are leaning towards the latter...

"STOP!" an unexpected voice rings across the field. You freeze and look towards it in shock - it _is_ Thorin, striding with purpose towards you and Ardath, Dis close behind him. You make sure Ardath is similarly distracted before lowering your axe.

"You dare," Thorin thunders, drawing Orcrist as he heads specifically for Ardath, "you _dare_ come to my lands and attack my wife?!"

" _She_ challenged _me_ ," Ardath returns, conceding a few steps of ground in Thorin's wake. "Thorin, you married an Elf? Have you gone mad?"

If he hadn't before, he is now. With an enraged cry, Thorin lunges at Ardath. Ardath moves with ease and Thorin misses; he doesn't recover right away and it hits you like a boulder that he's still sick.

You run to him and grab his shoulders. "Thorin, stop!" you shout. "You're ill and he's not worth it."

"He laid a hand on you - "

"I'm fine. You need to get out of the way. Go sit down or something."

"No! I will not leave you!"

"Then I'll leave with you." You turn to Ardath and say coldly, "This fight is over."

"You'd abandon a fight of honor?"

"So Thorin won't get hurt, yes. He means more to me than my honor."

Thorin, perhaps driven over the edge by your peace with apparent dishonor, rips free of your grasp and swings at Ardath again. Sword clashes with axe. At full capacity, Thorin may have been a match for Ardath, but now the fight is quite uneven. You look for a break to cut in, but there is none.

Ardath parries a blow and kicks Thorin down. The cheap move puts Thorin flat on his back. You have a sudden flashback to the icy stream atop Ravenhill, where Azog loomed over an incapacitated Thorin. The memory momentarily stops your heart. Whether or not Ardath intends to kill him, you do not care - you spring into action.

You leap Thorin's inert body in one lithe movement and bring your axe down hard. Ardath is forced to block, but the strength behind the hit knocks him to his knees. You yank the axe from his hands and plant your boot on his chest. The spectators gasp.

"Finish it," Ardath pants. "It is your right."

Your axe weighs heavily in your hand. It's a very tempting choice. You hold the tip of the weapon to his neck as an experiment. There is no fear in Ardath's eyes, and no anger - only acceptance.

You toss the axe aside. "No. I won't kill you. I will show you mercy, even though my pride demands otherwise. I'd rather you live with the shame of being spared by the Elf whom you insulted. I suggest you leave. We will resolve this through correspondence."

You step off of Ardath. Dis and Dwalin have already helped Thorin to his feet. You check him over for injuries.

Daegath moves through the crowd and stops in front of you. He bows low and says in a rush, "My lady, I beg your forgiveness."

None of the lingering fury in your blood is directed towards him; you smile graciously at him. "You've done nothing to offend me, Daegath, so you needn't apologize. I'd actually like to thank you for your support. It couldn't have been easy to speak against your father."

"My father was wrong in how he handled this matter. I apologize for the insults he paid you and thank you for sparing his life."

"I appreciate it. Go in peace."

You go with your group back into the Mountain. No one speaks until you return to your room, and for a bit after that. You take advantage of the silence to clean out the few scrapes you sustained during the fight. None of the injuries are serious, and you feel rather proud of that given your opponent. "So," you say conversationally, drying your hands, "the political fallout of what I just did will be...?"

"Positive, most likely," Dis answers. "Word will spread. You did what few people would, Ani. Mercy is not Dwarvish nature."

"So you don't think Ardath will come back to reclaim his honor or something?"

"Oh no, lass. You've shamed him deeply. He'll likely return to his house to mope. He'll be no trouble."

"Oh, good. Nice thinking, fetching Thorin, by the way."

"You should have fetched me sooner," Thorin says darkly. "You should have told me of his arrival in the first place!"

"Thorin, _I_ tried to cut off his head. _You_ would have mounted a full invasion and razed his lands to ash."

"No more than he deserves!"

"I guess diplomacy isn't in Dwarvish nature either."

Dis cuts in before Thorin can retort, "In Thorin's defense, lass, what Ardath did was reprehensible. Goes against all thoughts of ettiquite and common decency. Whatever Ardath's reasons, Daegath was right - the handling of the situation was unacceptable."

"I wouldn't have spared him," Kili declares. "Not after what he said."

You grin at him. "Remind me to take you off of diplomacy patrol."

"That won't be neccesary," Thorin says firmly. "I feel well enough to return to duty."

You pat his hand. "We'll see what Oin says. At the moment, though, I fancy a rest."

The others leave you and Thorin alone. You kick off your boots and pants and flop back on the bed. Thorin looks over at you like he has a talking-to brewing. You smile charmingly up at him.

He heaves a sigh. "You would kill me faster than any illness."

"What's that tone? I was battling for your honor! You should be thanking me."

"I'm the one who should be fighting for _your_ honor."

"Nah, I took care of that as well. So tell me, are all the Dwarves of other clans like that? Because I'd really rather not have to hack my way through four other hardened, Elf-hating warrior leaders just to gain some respect."

"I highly doubt it. Word doesn't only spread in Erebor. Soon everyone will know that the Queen Under the Mountain is not to be trifled with."

You beam at that description. _Not to be trifled with_. It creates the image of a tall, proud warrior clad in gleaming armor, hair billowing in the wind, eyes fixed majestically on something in the distance. You giggle.

Oin finally pronounces Thorin back at full health. Thorin is relieved bordering ecstatic. You're pretty thrilled, too, because it means both that he's healthy and that you can take a break. The evening before Thorin's triumphant return, you present him with the accumulation of reports by you and your squad.

"Impressive," he comments, flipping through the parchments. "Not that I doubted you - I was merely concerned that you might be overwhelmed. But it appears you had everything well in hand and are perhaps more organized than me. I'm proud of you."

"Ah, yes. Exceeding expectations is what keeps me young and beautiful."

"Just one question - what is this new legal system you enacted? I should probably know it so I can uphold it."

"Thorin, my love, let me tell you about a little thing called Rock, Paper, Scissors."

* * *

Excuse me while I loudly analyze my own work - but I don't think Ardath is exactly a bad guy. He really is concerned about Thorin, and he hates Elves, and he obviously has temper issues. He's almost like early Thorin tbh.


	7. Sabbatical, Part 1

I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER I AM SORRY MY COMPUTER WAS OUT OF ORDER AND THEN INSPIRATION TO WORK ON ORIGINAL STUFF STRUCK FORGIVE ME I LOVE YOU ALL

I swear to Mahal that as soon as I post this I am going right back to work on the next chapter because it's something I've been wanting to do for 84 years. Thank you for being patient, and as usual, thank you to Onediel for keeping me on task! (also shoutout to Dwalin for being a total bro)

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

The showdown with Ardath gets you thinking about where you may be lacking in your comprehension of Dwarvish culture. The lingering resentment towards him inspires you to take a stab at learning Khuzdul. You want a greater understanding of your people, and to be able to cuss Ardath out should your paths ever cross again.

With a little application and a lot of support, you make great strides in your quest to have at least a conversational grasp of Khuzdul. Basic greetings and niceties are your first objective; Dwarves are pleasantly shocked when you bid them good day in their native tongue. From there you move on to light conversation and are all but stumped. Khuzdul is a throaty, deep language, and though you managed your vows, you're not sure your dainty Elf throat was made for such pronunciation. This idea is further reinforced when you once practiced to Kili and sent him laughing to tears; you could only assume you butchered a few words and accidentally said something dirty.

The uphill battle gets you thinking about another language you haven't learned: your own. Elrond had invited you to Rivendell for lessons once upon a time, and you're thinking it's past due that you took him up on the offer. Thorin won't like it, and you won't like being away from Thorin, but you recall that Elrond is also versed in ancient Dwarvish, so perhaps he can help with that as well.

You voice this plan to Thorin one evening and his response is very predictable.

"Alone?" he asks, brow furrowing. "The thought of you traveling without any escort...I don't like it."

"I'm not keen on it either, but I'm sure I can make it with a map. Anyway, nobody's going to want to stay in Rivendell with me, and I wouldn't make them."

"That is inconsequential. You are royalty now, Aniel. There are many people who would exploit that."

"Oh, I get it. You're not worried about my sub-par survival skills, you're worried about someone nabbing me and holding me for ransom. Well, when you put it that way..."

Thorin sighs. "Is this important to you?"

"I would like to learn my own language, yeah."

"Then I won't stop you. But I would ask that you take someone with you, if only to simply see you there safely."

It's a stipulation you can support. It actually hadn't occurred to you that your new position has made you a bigger target for bandits and various other unsavory folk. You ask Dwalin to escort you and he firmly agrees once you tell him the reason. You make your preparations, bid farewell to Thorin - he's very unhappy at this, so you kiss him extra - and set off a week later.

"Are you sure you don't mind it?" you ask Dwalin as the two of you start out. "I mean, you're just turning right around when we get there..."

"Mind it! Never. Duty aside, you still need to be watched after, lass."

"Watched after! I have killed people!"

"Aye, and I taught you how to do it, and I saw you when we first started out."

You think back to some of the earliest training sessions with Dwalin, back when you could hardly swing an axe. "Fair enough."

The journey is uneventful and safe thanks to Dwalin, and the two of you enjoy each other's company the whole way. Little by little, the mountains flatten into hills, which smooth into plains. You can't help the thrill of excitement in your stomach when you cross the Bruinen. Here Dwalin leaves you with a hug and a promise to tell Thorin everything went well. You thank him sincerely and continue into Rivendell.

You're overwhelmed even as you cross the small bridge. Rivendell is the direct opposite of everything you've come to know. The lines of the buildings are flowing and graceful; Dwarven architecture is geometric and sturdy. The curtains across the open walls that flutter in the breeze are all the pale versions of colors, all washed out and barely there in a way that almost echoes the Elves themselves. Erebor is all green and gold, and its inhabitants dress in earthy tones complimented by darker or more vibrant hues. Rivendell itself is open, letting one single gust of wind sail through its entirety, whereas no amount of wind can pierce the Mountain. These are all just cosmetic differences, however. The real disparity lies in the populations.

The entrance courtyard is empty, and there isn't a soul in sight. You bite your lip, wondering if you should wait for someone to come along or just wander around to find Elrond. It wasn't like you knew nothing of the layout, though it had been a while, but you weren't sure if it would be rude to just stroll around -

A voice like a stream in a meadow calls to you: "My lady, are you lost?"

You look up instantly, heart pounding. You knew that voice, even if you'd never heard it in this world. It's Arwen who approaches you, her dress trailing behind her like the aura she leaves as she passes. You barely recover the ability to speak when she stops in front of you, a curious half-smile in place.

"Evenstar!" You bow awkwardly. "It's an honor to meet you. My name is Aniel. I've come to speak to Lord Elrond, if he is here and would see me."

"Aniel..." Arwen looks as though the name rings a bell. "Did you come from...?"

"Erebor, yes."

"Then the honor is mine, Your Majesty."

You flush at the title. To see Arwen Evenstar show deference to you is nothing short of mind blowing. You forget how to speak again. Luckily, she doesn't.

"I'm sure my father would be glad to see you. If you'll walk with me, I will take you to his study."

You try not to trip over your own feet as you hurry to keep up with her. You mostly walk in silence, because you can't think of anything witty or intelligent enough to say. You can hardly believe you're strolling casually through Rivendell with _the Evenstar_.

"What brings you here to Rivendell, if I may ask?" inquires Arwen.

"Knowledge that I don't have," you answer truthfully. "Lord Elrond offered once to teach me Elvish, and I find I need to take him up on that and then some."

Arwen looks at you curiously but does not ask why you don't already know Elvish. Instead she merely says, "It will be a welcome change to have another lady in the house."

She escorts you to Elrond's study. You take in the shelves upon shelves of books, thrilled to imagine that one day soon you might be able to read them. Elrond himself is up by his desk, looking out over the valley.

"Ada," Arwen calls, "we have a lady guest that seeks audience."

Elrond turns, and his expression breaks into a smile upon seeing you. "Your Majesty," he greets, inclining his head slightly.

"My Lord Elrond." You copy his actions with a mixture of sincerety and irony. "I hoped I could ask you a favor."

"Anything at all, you are welcome to it."

"Well, it's been a running joke that I can't speak Elvish, and while that's all very hilarious, I'd like to remedy it. You offered once to teach me, and I was wondering if that offer still holds."

"It does indeed! It would be a joy to have you in my house while I teach you the language. Arwen, please show Aniel to a room. I will make the necessary preparations and find you tomorrow."

"Thank you!" you exclaim. You didn't _really_ think that Elrond would refuse you, but to have him so enthusiastic at the prospect makes you a special kind of relieved. "I can't wait to start!"

Arwen leads you down the open halls to a room. She questions you lightly about the goings-on of Erebor. You answer politely but briefly as you don't know the extent of her true interest in the subject. But somehow she's terribly easy to talk to, and you find yourself going more and more into detail with your responses.

"...so I figured I'd start with something easy and not dangerous, so I took them out to the fields to make flower crowns. I was surprised at how much they loved it. It was a great afternoon."

"Flower crowns," Arwen repeats, a thoughtful smile in place. "That sounds lovely. Would you teach me to make them?"

"I - yes, I'd be glad to," you reply, shocked at the request. "I'm sure lessons won't take all day."

"Thank you. It would be a pleasant hobby to pick up. I look forward to it. Good evening, Your Majesty."

You say quickly as she turns to leave, "Please, just Aniel." You'd grown used to Dwarves using the honorifics, but it just felt strange coming from other Elves.

"Of course, if you will only call me Arwen."

"Yes, fair enough. Good evening."

Arwen sweeps away, leaving you alone in the room. You blink upon realizing its familiarity; it's the same room you stayed in during your first visit. So much has changed since then that you laugh at the disparities. You feel that the best way to honor the occasion is pulling out the big copper tub. Too bad you don't have a certain someone to fill it for you.

Lessons start after breakfast the next day. You dress more Elvish in honor of the occasion, though you keep your heavy Dwarf boots and your furs. Elrond is waiting for you on the steps of his study. His eyebrows quirk slightly at your appearance, though he doesn't comment.

Several rolls of parchment and inkwells are set up at a table. You excitedly take a seat at one of the tall-backed chairs. "Thank you so much for teaching me," you say sincerely.

"I am glad to have such an eager student," Elrond returns. "We will start with the alphabet."

Your stomach is aflutter with glee as Elrond begins to write out the Tengwar alphabet and their pronunciations. That glee slowly turns to horror as you begin to see that all of the letters are almost identical. They're all some combination of half-circles and sticks.

"They're...they're all the exact same," you say blankly when Elrond finishes. "All the letters are the exact same! And there's no vowels!"

"The vowels are indicated by tehtar which appear above the preceding consonant in Quenya," Elrond explains. "It is a phonetic language. And, yes, the letters are quite similar."

"I don't think I can do this."

"If you can change the course of history, you can learn Elvish," he says, cracking a smile. "Just begin by coping the letters."

You copy the alphabet over and over and over until you feel like you might dream about it. Elrond is infinitely patient and does not give you more than you can handle. After you learn the alphabet, he explains the placement of vowels as many times as you ask him to.

"Okay," you say finally, "I think I can write words now."

"I'm sure you can, but we'll stop for the day."

You blink. "Really? Already?"

"It is almost time for the midday meal. Come back tomorrow morning and we will resume."

"Alright. I'll be here. Thanks for being so patient."

You descend the steps back into the sun, which is indeed almost directly overhead. You're quite proud of your progress so far, though now you know that learning a new language will not be as easy as you hoped.

After lunch, you take a stroll to the garden to see if Arwen is there. You find her sitting on a stone bench, the absolute epitome of tranquility and beauty. You're amazed that anyone can look that much like a work of art without even trying.

Arwen looks up and smiles as if you called her name. You jump, embarrased that you'd been caught staring, and go to sit beside her. "Still want to learn flower chains?" you ask, hoping very much that she does.

"I would love to."

You look at the flowers nearest the bench. They have long, green stems and beautiful petals, and sway gracefully in the slight breeze. "Are you sure it's okay to pick these flowers?"

"They will grow back. I pick them often; I like to have a bouquet in my room."

"Okay. As long as we won't get in trouble."

"For picking flowers?" she laughs.

You flush. "They're just so pretty and delicate. _Everything_ here is pretty and delicate. And _quiet_. How is it so quiet? Living people have to make noise. It's like no one lives here."

"You must be used to much more noise."

"Yeah, but - but that's not why we're here, sorry." You quickly pick a fistful of flowers to begin the demonstration.

"I'd like to hear about your home," Arwen says.

"Really?" You look up at her. "You're really interested?"

"I do not have much occasion to travel. I love to hear stories of other lands when visitors come. And I'm sure you have many stories to tell, if you'd like to tell them."

You cannot deny her feather-light curiosity, so after you teach her how to make flower crowns, you tell her all the most interesting stories of Erebor. Her expression does not change much, though you can tell she's listening intently as she weaves the stems into a circle. You finish your own crown of larkspur and set it in place.

"You live a very busy, beautiful life," Arwen says, still focusing on her flowers. "What made you leave it for Rivendell?"

"I wanted to learn Elvish. I, uh, had an encounter that put it in my mind."

"An encounter with another Elf?"

"An encounter with an angry Dwarf lord out for my blood."

At this Arwen looks up in concern. "Does that happen to you often?"

"Not often, no. It was quite an experience. But don't worry about it. Are you done with your crown?"

She shows you a very well-made circlet of white peonies. She sets it on her head. The effect is ethereal. "These are enjoyable and quite simple to make. I should like to make them more often."

You find out that "more often" to Arwen means with such frequency that within a week, every Elf in Rivendell is sporting a flower crown. You come for lessons one morning to find Elrond with a circlet of lavender. He acts as if it's not there. You put a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.

"I feel like I should apologize for teaching Arwen how to make flower crowns," you say with forced evenness.

"I would agree, but it brings her joy, so I'll let it slide," he returns. That day, he teaches you the names of flowers.

You settle into life in Rivendell to some degree of comfort. The Hidden Valley loses none of its charm the longer you stay, but you find you cannot call it even a temporary home. As you told Arwen, it's much too quiet and open and empty. You find yourself longing for Erebor and realize you will not be able to stay much longer.

You send a particularly delightful letter to Thorin to keep up the two-month correspondence. Of course, it's only a delight to you - you giggle just imagining the expression he'll have when he gets it and attempts to read it.

 _Love,_

 _I miss you. Rivendell is lovely, but it's not home. I've learned so much from Lord Elrond. I can hold short conversations in Elvish. It's_ _delightful to be able to speak my own language._

 _I am going to come home soon. I love you._

 _Aniel_

You cackle upon signing the short letter, because only the address and your name are in Common. The rest is in Elvish, lending to the simplistic sentence structure. It was a painstaking task, and there are several words scratched out, but your chest is full of pride. You send it off and eagerly await the response.

Because you and Elrond share a similar sense of humor, you're excited to tell him of your expert trolling. "I sent a letter to Thorin," you say brightly as you sit for the day's lesson.

"How nice. I'm sure he misses you dearly."

"I sent a letter to Thorin in _Elvish_."

Elrond is surprised for a moment, then lets out a quiet chuckle. You're thrilled at the sound; it probably isn't every decade that the Elf lord laughs. "That is wicked," he says, smiling broadly. "I am impressed."

"It's not that mean. Tauriel can read it for him the next time she visits."

"You remind me of my sons when they were young," Elrond remarks, regarding you almost fondly. "They were quite mischievous."

"I'd love to meet them one day." You know so little of Elladan and Elrohir that they would be the only true surprises in this world.

"They ride with the Dunedain, but they visit to make reports. Perhaps one day your visits will coincide."

You very much hope so.

Thorin's response comes swiftly. You giggle gleefully when you receive the parchment from the raven. You rip open the seal and grin expectantly at the paper.

 _Aniel,_

 _I suppose you think you're terribly funny._

You fall back on your bed, laughing as if at the greatest joke ever told. You can clearly picture the disgruntled frown Thorin wore when he wrote this.

 _But if you're writing letters in Elvish, that must mean that your lessons are going well. Tauriel was so kind as to translate for me. If I never_ _have to ask that of her again, it will be too soon. She only managed to contain her mirth due to fear of retribution._

 _I am glad that you are learning, but I would like to have you home soon. Dis has accused me of being, as she puts it, grouchy. I can't quite_ _disagree with her._

 _I love you dearly, wicked girl.  
_ _Thorin_

You chortle and kiss the paper before tucking it away. The prank was thoroughly worth it, and you're grateful for your husband's surprising sense of humor regarding it. You make a mental note to thank him extra.

You depart Rivendell after three pleasant months full of learning and friendship. Arwen is distraught to hear that you're leaving. You can understand why - you imagine she doesn't have many friends - but you're still honored that she counts you among them. You promise to write to her often.

"Write to me, as well," Elrond says, handing you several books to take back with you. "It would be a shame for you to forget all you've learned."

"It certainly would," you agree fervently, thinking back on the ninety straight days of packing your head with knowledge. "For your hospitality - er, _hannon le, hir-nin_."

"Excellent." Elrond smiles and embraces you briefly. "I will see you again, _penneth_."

After a trip through the Wild which can only be described as _long as hell_ , you find your heart beating faster as you spy the Mountain standing proudly in the distance. You urge your weary horse to give its last energy. You gallop up to the gates with a long whoop and your arms in the air (you still tend to forget that you're royalty), and the guard cheers.

You run full-tilt into the entrance chamber and skid grandly across the polished stone floors. Over the pounding of your heart you can hear the many sounds of the Mountain. For no second is it ever silent. It's indescribably wonderful to _hear_ people and _see_ people and _know_ you're not alone, which is a direct contrast to Rivendell.

Word of your arrival spreads efficiently; you're on your way to the throne room when Thorin comes sprinting out of a completely different direction. You meet him head on and laugh as he spins you around. Only when you are back in his arms are you truly home again.

* * *

Behind the scenes look at me researching for this chapter~

Me: Alright, let's look up Elvish! I'm sure it won't be that hard to learn. Aniel's got this.  
Me: ...  
Me: ...  
Me: I HAVE MADE A HORRIBLE MISTAKE

LIKE WHAT THE HELL TOLKIEN TENGWAR IS JUST VARYING BUMPS AND DIPS AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO INCORPORATE THE VOWELS INTO THE LINES JESUS

like i am never learning elvish ever you couldn't pay me


	8. Unscheduled Spelunking

I'VE WAITED 84 YEARS TO DO THIS CHAPTER. Do you remember that story you were telling the guys in the second part of Destiny Undone? About getting lost in Erebor? WELL GUESS WHAT MY FRIENDS

and it's almost 5k words! *SLAM DUNK*

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

In the three months you spent in Rivendell, you learned two things: Elvish, and the fact that your true place was among Dwarves.

For at least a week after you returned, every Dwarf that passed you greeted you cheerfully. It was incredible to think that the population at large may have actually missed your presence. You didn't figure they would have paid you that much mind in their everyday lives. Your theory is that they had linked Thorin's grumpiness with your absence and were glad that you were back so Thorin's mood would improve.

Thorin's mood certainly _had_ improved. Dis, Kili, and Fili all recount their plight in dealing with their sulking relative. You promise not to go away again for a while. They are very grateful.

You have the idea to surprise Thorin with a night picnic. You want to spend some alone time with him, and you're sure he'll appreciate the outing. You pack a basked with picnic supplies while imagining all the things the two of you could get up to while alone under the starry sky.

You hear tell that Thorin is in the forges. You descend deeper into the Mountain with a spring in your step. You don't quite remember how to get to the forges - it had been a long time since you'd last been there, and Thorin had led the way each time - but you're sure you can navigate well enough on your own.

Truth be told, you get easily caught up in the flow of traffic. Dwarves pushing carts of various precious materials and carrying heavy pickaxes and hammers capture your interest. Erebor is an industrious city on every level, be it in the markets or in the mines or in the living districts. You love the noise, much more so after missing it in Rivendell. The clink of metal on rock is music to your ears.

You're so engrossed in the natural songs of the Mountain that you hardly notice as they gradually disappear. You notice that there's less light where you are now, and less traffic, and -

You look around. And you are completely alone.

The area where you are now looks like it hasn't been visited in ages. The torches are dark and cold in their brackets. There is a thick layer of dust on the floor. You blink, startled. You must have taken more than one wrong turn! You can still just barely hear the sounds of work in the distance. All you have to do is follow them back to civilization. But what you don't count on is that the noise is echoing off the rock in a hundred different ways, so after another hour of walking, you find the sounds have disappeared altogether and that you are even more lost than before.

"Amazing," you say to yourself. "I cannot believe this. I have managed to get lost _in my own home_."

The reality of the situation forces you to sit down to contemplate life for a moment. You are lost in the deepest parts of Erebor, the parts where no one has been in a while and where no one would ever think to look for you. Well, it looks like you'll be relying on yourself for an escape. But you've pulled off more impressive feats, haven't you? Finding your way back up will be a piece of cake.

You're very glad you're not wearing a dress.

You begin your epic quest of ascension by grabbing a free torch and lighting it with the spark of two stones. The small blaze illuminates the area around you. You're on a solid landing, but beneath you is a criss-cross of wooden bridges and several other platforms lay beneath you. The curiosity in undeniable, but you don't want to get even more lost than you aleady are. You set your sights on the very specific direction of _up_ and start walking.

It should have been as easy as retracing your steps. It should have been, but of course it wasn't. The torch's light dances weirdly off the angles of the rock, rendering foreign any passage that would have looked remotely familiar. Still, you maintain your direction. Even when you have to backtrack, you always go up.

You're not sure how much progress you've made when your stomach rumbles. You're momentarily horrified until you remember the picnic basket in your arms. Well, it's not like you're going to make it back in time to share the meal with Thorin. You sit where you are and crack into the basket.

You packed plenty - bread, salted pork, pickles, apples, grapes, and ale only scratched the surface - but you want to ration it. You don't know how long you'll need to eat out of the basket. You help yourself to an apple and some pork.

Resting to eat makes you realize how tired you are. It's a discomforting notion; you hadn't really planned to spend the night down here. Your internal clock usually has you sleepy by nine and in the bed by ten. Can it really be so late already? You bite your lip. If so, Thorin should be discovering your absence right about now.

You try not to think about it. You're tired, but not yet sleepy. Surely you have about another hour left in you. You pack up the food and move on.

Wherever you are now is a generally flat layout. The bridges don't provide any significant elevation, which isn't reassuring. Eventually you see a carven doorway up ahead. You hurry excitedly towards it. Surely this had to be _something!_

The torchlight proves you right. It * _was_ * something - something both incredible and unsettling. You seem to have stumbled upon a hub of the olden days: desks and carts stood abandoned in the fair sized room. Also littering the room were corpses. They must have been Dwarves either trapped or driven here by Smaug when he first attacked. You don't particularly want to share your temporary bedroom with dead people, but it can't be helped.

The Mountain is cold in its deep places. You light one of the wooden carts on fire and wrap the blanket from the picnic basket around your shoulders to keep you warm. The hard stone floor is less than comfortable; you recover some decrepit pillows from the desk seats to sleep on. They throw up a choking cloud of dust when you lay on them.

You have a small meal when you wake in the morning - at least, your internal clock says it's morning - and light another torch. Before leaving, you scour the room for loot, because sleeping in the bowels of the Mountain has made you feel less like a queen and more like you're stuck in a fantasy adventure game. You find a coil of rope the strength of which you test extensively and several piles of dull jewels. You can't exactly bring those along, however, so you leave them be.

The doorway on the other side of the room leads back into the caverns. You continue on your way, straight, right, left, straight, left, right, mostly moving forward, always doing your best to move up. You sing some songs to ease the loneliness and uncertainty. It's hard to keep your mind on the task at hand when all the dark stone walls and gaping chasms run together.

Something on the wall catches the torchlight and your eye as you pass it. You squint and realize that it's a phrase in Dwarvish runes. It takes a moment to decipher, and you don't understand all of it, but you make out the words _mithril_ , _mine_ , and _lift_. Your heart leaps at the last word. If you can find this mithril mine, you may be able to find an express route up, if not all the way back to civilization.

There's only one way to proceed, so you do so with renewed vigor, right up until you come to a long bridge spanning a bottomless pit. The bridge is, of course, wooden, and the wood and rope have rotted with time, creating the grandfather of all creepy, unsafe bridges. It looks like it will collapse at the slightest application of pressure. But there is no way around it, and on the other side of it is an elevator. Still, you take a moment to weigh just how badly you want to get back upstairs.

You gingerly put one foot on the first wood plank. It groans like it's being forced to support the weight of the world, but it holds. You step in slow motion, always gripping the rope rails, like somehow that will make you weightless. Every second you pray that you don't hear a snapping sound or feel the wood disappear from beneath your feet. The tension mounts until you break into a run for the last few feet to the other side. The bridge creaks and sways behind you, but it does not disintegrate, almost like an unspoken promise that you can pass over it again if needed. You breathe a sigh of relief, feeling as though you performed some great feat instead of walking over a rickety bridge.

There are more rough carvings denoting the way to the lift. You picture a strong, sturdy elevator that will help you ascend with the mere flip of a lever. Then you can get some fresh air and a bath and perhaps Thorin won't be too mad at your disappearance.

A mine shaft opens up in front of you. Another inscription nearby designates it as the mithril mine you were headed for. A track leads down into the depths of the hole. One cart is standing nearby; your torch glints off of something inside it. Closer investigation reveals it to be ore, but if the rocks came from the mine, it's mithril ore. You smile and pocket a small sample. There will surely be a clamoring to get down here once you share the news.

Initially you can't locate the lift. The cart track seems to lead from one chasm into the mine. It is only after very thorough searching do you find that the chasm has ropes down the middle of it. A sinking feeling in your stomach, you kick a pebble down the hole. It falls a while before bouncing off of something metal. You assume that something metal is the lift, now broken and stranded at the bottom of the shaft.

The upper parts of the shaft have openings cut into it, likely the other floors that the lift would have stopped at. You gaze up at them, weighing your options. You can either go back over the bridge that time forgot and see if you'd missed any passages, or you can get creative and make your own ascension.

Such a choice requires a drink. You have a few bites of cheese and bread and a hearty sip of wine. The sweetness of the wine gives you the courage to do what you have to do.

You secure the basket to your back, say a quick prayer, and make a jump for the rope cables still hanging in the shaft. The swinging of the cord is disorienting. You fight the awful urge to look down. Very slowly and very carefully, you begin to climb. The coarse rope stings your palms as you grip it and slide it through your fingers. Your clunky Dwarf boots provide excellent traction; the rope gets caught on all the buckles. You inch up and up and up, counting the floors you pass. Finally, after seven floors, you reach the topmost passage.

You're not at all keen on releasing your death grip on the rope, but you must if you want to keep moving. You throw your weight from side to side to get the rope swinging, hoping at the same time that each swing won't be the one that causes it to snap. You swing for so long that you can almost touch the sides of the shaft.

After several moments of mental preparation, you throw caution to the winds and let go of the rope. The momentum hurls you out of the shaft and right into the passage you were aiming at. You land hard on the floor and roll several times. You laugh breathlessly - you could give Lara Croft a run for her money! - then proceed to lie there for a while to get your heart rate back under control and stop your life from flashing before your eyes.

The new corridor you find yourself in immediately turns to the right and presents a staircase. You've never been so happy to see stairs in your entire life. You march up them like each inch up the incline is a personal victory.

The stairway breaks into what you initially assume is another cavern, but the torch light expands to reveal finely carved pillars. It's not some random cave - it's a room, and a _massive_ one at that. It reminds you of the great hall in Moria.

Work stations fill the room; desks are topped with bronze scales, magnifying glasses, and piles of jewels. It appears as though this room was also quickly abandoned during Smaug's attack and never revisited. It's an interesting but somewhat unsettling still life. Everything is set up like workers should be returning any moment.

You browse the work stations for items of interest to take back, like your mithril ore. You've come to fancy yourself a sort of archaeologist, like Indiana Jones minus the Nazis, looking for artifacts to bring with you back to the light of day. There's nothing particularly interesting in the mounds of jewels - then the light of the torch catches something different.

It's a breathtaking crown of silver and fine crystals. You _oooh_ in a low voice and pick it up. It's more geometric and less organic, hinting that it was meant for a Dwarf recipient. You're definitely rescuing this treasure. And what better way to transport it than by wearing it?

Knowing Dwarven architecture as you do, you assume there will be another large door on the opposite side of the room as the one you came through. That corridor should lead to another large room, and so forth until you're back where you need to be. You are not amiss in this assumption: there is indeed another hall, and it probably does lead where you need to go. Unfortunately, it has long been caved in. Huge boulders block the doorway, making passage impossible.

"Yeah. Naturally. Why make anything easy?" you gripe to the empty room. But you're used to disappointment down here. You'll just have to find another way.

There are a few smaller offshoots from the room. Three of the four of them lead back downstairs or to dead end rooms. The fourth has a flight of stairs that ascend. It's a compromise you can live with. These stairs are less steep, and soon you see why: it ends abruptly in another shaft. Anchored to the wall is a ladder of decayed wood. You let out a groan. The bride had bore you with good grace; you can only hope the ladder will be as kind.

The first rung bows dangerously when you step on it. You wince and step more carefully. Several of the rungs do actually break under your weight, but you're always expecting it, so it never ends in disaster. Just as you think your relative luck must run out, the ladder peaks at a new floor.

Another great cave is there to greet you. Your platform is one of many in this chamber, but none of them are connected. There is a distant sound of a rushing stream. The largeness is overwhelming, and you're frustrated and tired as it is. You decide to call it a day, or night, or whatever. You dislodge the ladder, pull it up, and break it down to use as kindling.

You notice with a sinking feeling that your food supply is dwindling. You thought you'd been sparing with it, but all the walking and recent acrobatics had consumed a lot of energy that needed to be replaced. You'll just have to either eat less or escape sooner. But that's a job for another day. You wrap yourself in the picnic blanket and curl up away from any of the stark ledges. Your final thought before you drift off is to talk to Thorin about installing some safety rails.

Waking up finds you in the same dismal situation. You wrinkle your nose at the prospect of a third day of "adventuring". You stare up at the far ceiling of the cavern until you notice something slightly off about the texture. There is the rock, but then there is something metallic and flat that you can't quite make out. You light a new torch from the embers of the fire and throw it up in the air with all your might. It smashes into the metallic thing, and in the explosion of sparks you make out a metal cart suspended on a pulley system. It must be used to transport ore and materials to and from the mines! It's your ticket forward - if you can get up there.

The joy of possibly being close to home makes you think quickly. You find a heavy but manageable stone and tie it to one end of the rope you salvaged earlier. You give it a good twirl, then loose the weighted end up towards the cart. It takes several tries, and you almost lose the rope entirely once, but finally the weight catches satisfactorily on the cable. You give the line a few good tugs to make sure it won't give while you're dangling over the chasm. By now you're a pro at climbing things; you shimmy up the rope and clamber into the cart. The cart sways unnervingly, but you're not worried about it falling; the cable is a thick braid of metal.

You whoop loudly. The exclamation of glee echoes around the cavern, making it sound like the Mountain is celebrating with you. You reach up to the cord and give it a yank to draw the cart forward. It takes a tremendous amount of effort, but slowly you gain a little distance. You wipe your brow. This is going to be a _long_ ride.

You spend the entire day creeping along at a snail's pace. The energy spent on moving the pulley system compels you to eat through most of the rest of your provisions. Your palms blister quickly; you wrap them in a bit of your shirt and carry on. To vent your frustration, you shout profanities to the void. Sure it's not very queenly, but who's around to hear you?

You end up sleeping in the cart and continuing the journey the next day. You're almost ready to resign yourself to dying on this stupid contraption when the cart suddenly changes direction. You peer over the side. You've made it to the end of the circuit! Beneath you is a landing. You have to remind yourself that just jumping would not end well; you tie your rope off and slide down. It's so wonderful to have solid rock under your feet again that you stomp just to feel its reassuring steadiness.

There is a flight of stairs in front of you. It might be a trick of your desperate eyes, but you swear you can see a distant orange glow of light. You take off with a sudden burst of energy. The orange glow grows stronger, and you can hear the echoing sounds of metal being worked. You scream with joy and speed up. You are almost home and out of this misery and you are spending the rest of your life in your room! A few more twists and turns and you are abruptly right in the middle of a highly trafficked area. The day-and-night change startles you. It's several moments before it sinks in - _you made it_.

You loose a victory yell and throw your nearly empty picnic basket down like you just made a touchdown. The ruckus draws attention from the passing Dwarves. You're too engrossed in your celebration to notice until you hear a surprised, "Your Majesty?"

You freeze and look up. Several Dwarves are staring at you in shock. You reign in the urge to hug the first sign of life you've met in four days. "Hi," you say, straightening your clothes. "Uh, I - I have a lot of explaining to do."

"You've been missing for four days!" one exclaimed. "The King has searched high and low for you! Where have you been?"

"Lost, my friend. I have been lost. Do you know where Thorin is? I should probably go tell him I'm alive after I go get some fresh air."

In the blink of an eye, the Dwarves around you have assembled some sort of makeshift platform that they set on their shoulders. They scoop you up on it and trot off in a certain direction. You squeak and struggle to get off. "I - I can walk!" you say, turning red from the treatment. "I've been walking for days!"

"Begging your pardon, Majesty, but you look quite the worse for the wear. It's best if we carry you."

"But I don't want - I - " You would hop right off, but they're going so fast that you'd probably fumble the dismount. You grudgingly allow yourself to be carted off and try not to glare at the people who stare.

The destination is a meeting hall. The Dwarves carrying you burst dramatically through the doors. Thorin is talking to a group of guards, probably giving instructions; he turns at the sound of the doors opening. His expression is priceless when he sees you.

"I can take it from here!" you tell the Dwarves quickly. You don't want Thorin to think you were injured and incapable of walking. "Thank you very much for your assistance."

You jump down and cross the floor to Thorin, who is absolutely dumbfounded. You smile innocently. "I can explain."

Thorin grabs you tightly. You're glad he began with a hug instead of a rant, but you have a feeling that -

"Where in Durin's name _were_ you?!"

Yes, the rant certainly follows. You let him go on with it. You've learned that it's just his way of showing his concern.

"Four days I looked for you! You disappear without a word to anyone - and look at you!" He scrubs some of the dirt off your cheek with his thumb. "It looks like you've been wandering the mines!"

"That's because I _have_ been wandering the mines."

"You - what?"

You heave a sigh. It is time to come clean about your level of incompetence. "Okay, so four days ago I had the idea to surprise you with a picnic. I heard that you were in the forges, so I went to get you. I...must have taken some wrong turns, because I ended up in what looked like Moria. I had no idea the Mountain even goes that deep. So I had to find my way back, and that involved taking the scenic tour of the deepest mines."

Thorin is thoroughly flummoxed. "But...how did you...how did you get lost, first and foremost, and how did you get back? Where were you?"

"I guess I wasn't paying attention. I didn't really remember the way down, because it's been a while since I've been there, but I thought I could just follow the traffic. I got back by trying pretty much every corridor I found, crossing some structures that were probably made in the First Age, climbing a lift shaft, and finally crossing an abyss in a pulley system. As for where I was, I couldn't begin to tell you, but look!"

You take off the crown and retrieve the mithril ore. "I came across a mithril mine that looked pretty much untouched. There were a lot of work room, too, and I picked up this crown. It looked important, so I brought it back."

Thorin's gaze lingers on these things only briefly. "That can wait. All that matters is that you're safe and home."

"Yeah." You grin proudly. "I _am_ home. Took me four days, but I made it all by myself."

Thorin tells the guard to end the search and recall all the retrieval teams. He takes you upstairs to your room, holding your hand all the way. You'd find it sweet, but you're pretty sure it's just because he doesn't trust you not to get lost again.

You sweep into your room and sigh happily. After sleeping on uncomfortable surfaces for so long, it will be exquisite to lie in your bed again. You don't deprive yourself of the joy; you flop right down and groan at the glorious feeling of feathers instead of floor.

"I'll draw you a bath," Thorin says. "Do not leave the room."

"Oh, are we going to start that now? Great. I'll never hear the end of it from the boys. They'll be joking about me getting lost in their graves."

You continue grumbling while Thorin strips you down and goads you into the tub. You're distracted from the inevitability of teasing by the hot water dissolving away the built-up layers of dirt on your skin. You treat Thorin to the details of your rather athletic exploits while he gently scrubs you clean.

"As much as I don't like to admit it, that is quite impressive," Thorin remarks when you're finished.

"You don't like to admit it?" you repeat indignantly.

"You don't need any more encouragement to do do risky and dangerous things. Well, if it had to happen, I'm glad it happened like it did. I cannot think of if you did not bring that picnic basket along."

"I just wanted a nice picnic," you lament. "This is what happens when I try to spring a surprise."

"We can have a picnic, love. But this time _I_ will find _you_."

"Yeah, about that...am I gonna be in solitary confinement for the rest of my life?"

"Not for the rest of your life. I'll put together a map for you. Erebor can be quite confusing for those not familiar with it - "

I _am_ familiar with it!" you whine. "I live here! And that's what makes it worse - I got lost in my own home!"

"It's alright, love."

"No it's not! Kili and Fili will laugh at me when they find out!"

"Without a doubt."

"Will you laugh at me?"

"Perhaps eventually. Presently I'm still just happy you're back."

"So am I," you sigh happily. "I am sorry I worried you, though. I'll try not to get lost in my own home again."

Thorin kneels to wash your hair. "If I tell you a secret, will you keep it?"

"Of course!" You didn't know Thorin _had_ secrets, which in retrospect was silly of you.

"Once - and only once, mind you - Frerin and I also got lost in Erebor."

You whip around to gape at him. " _You_ got lost in Erebor?" you gasp. "That's hilarious!"

"It was not hilarious at the time," he says, though he smiles. "Frerin...oh Mahal, he got me in so much trouble when we were children. This particular incident was because he was convinced there was a troll in one of the mines. He was intent on killing it. I went along because I couldn't very well let him wander around a mine by himself. We got lost down there, only for about a day. Father was at his wit's end when we found our way out."

"And _was_ there a troll down there?"

"Of course not. What Frerin heard was a late-night crew widening the tunnels. So don't feel too bad, love. It happens to the best of us."

"I do feel better, actually. What other stories to do have? I dunno why I never thought to ask you earlier."

Thorin relates a few short tales from his younger days. Some of them involve Frerin, some involve Dwalin, and all of them involve some grade-A shenanigans. You're astonished by the time you're lying in bed beside him. "I never knew you were a troublemaker!" you giggle, scooting closer to him.

"Me? Thorin is offended. "Did you listen to nothing I said? I was always simply dragged along for the ride. All of my friends were troublemakers. Their reputation just bled onto me."

"I think it's cute. You could stand to get into more sticky situations and be less serious."

Thorin chuckles. "The last sticky situation I got into involved a dragon, so what exactly are you suggesting?"

"Ooh. Right. Forget I said anything."

Thorin rolls over and kisses you sweetly. You fall asleep in his arms and are very glad to be there.


	9. A Promise Kept

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FRIENDS! Here's your present that I basically wrote in blood for as hard as it was to get out. I don't have a lot of time to write lately between school and my new job, but I'll do my best! Next chapter will be the celebration of Durin's Day to parallel our New Year!

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

As predicted, there is a gold rush when word of the new mine circulates - or more, a mithril rush. It seems like the whole Mountain comes along when you show them and Thorin where you found the mine. You're glad for it, because the sheer amount of people present makes it impossible for you to get lost again. The Dwarves get to work repairing the lift and strengthening the bridge with a spring in their step.

There is another significant consequence of your unscheduled adventure: you find out who the intended recipient of the gorgeous crown was. You'd been wearing it off and on since you found it; you're more than a little taken with it. As you're admiring it one particular evening, your fingers brush against some scratches on the interior. Closer examination reveals them not to be flaws, but runes. You squint to decipher them in the candle light.

You gasp loudly once you make out the name. You immediately take off down the halls. You intercept Thorin, who was heading to the room, and drag him along with you without explanation.

The destination is Dis's room. You burst in without knocking. Dis, who grew up with two brothers and bore two sons, is not perturbed in the slightest by the entrance. She simply looks up from a book with raised eyebrows, inviting you to speak.

"It's yours!" you exclaim, holding up the crown. "Dis, this crown is for you!"

"That's very kind of you, Ani, but you're the one who found it," she replied.

"No, no, I mean it was _made_ for you! I didn't realize until a minute ago, but your name is on it! Look!"

This captures both Dis and Thorin's interest. They examine the area you indicated and see the runes.

"My theory is that Thrain had it made for you a long time ago, but - er, well, you know..."

Thorin and Dis are both very quiet as they look at the crown. You respectfully give them a moment. Dis murmurs to Thorin, "Did you know about this? Did he ever say anything to you?"

"I do not recall. It's been so long. But it has your name on it, and who else would make you such a lovely crown? It must have been a gift from Father for when you came of age."

"Bit late for that," Dis chuckled, wiping her eyes. "Ani...thank you for this. It means more than I can say. I'll wear it proudly."

"I'm so glad it ended up being important!" you say excitedly. "I guess getting lost was a good thing after all!"

"Let's not go too far," Thorin says, kissing you on the cheek.

* * *

The unexpected treat of reuniting Dis with a relic from the past reminds you of a promise you once made to do the same for someone else. It feels like it's been ages since the battle for Erebor when you tried bribing Thranduil with his wife's necklace. Nothing ever came of the deal, and you hadn't seen the Elf King since. But seeing Dis's joy makes you wonder if it's time to fulfill your promise.

You are _not_ keen on going to Mirkwood at all, much less alone, but this isn't something you can just send through the mail. You figure the trip will take a week at the very most if you don't linger or get thrown in a cell on principle. The preparations will be easy enough to make. The hardest part will be bringing it up to Thorin.

You do it casually one evening before bed. "So I've got an errand to run," you begin slowly.

"What kind?" he responds, turning down the sheets.

"A delivery."

"What's so important that you need to deliver it yourself?"

"Well, I kind of promised to do it a while ago, but I never got around to it. Now that it's on my mind again, I figure I should get it done."

"What's the destination?"

"Uh...Mirkwood."

At this, Thorin looks at you in surprise. "What on earth do you have to deliver to _Mirkwood_?"

You sigh. It's time to stop beating around the bush. "I'm taking Thranduil's wife's necklace back to him because I promised it to him for helping us in the battle."

Thorin's expression flattens. "Not a chance."

"Thorin..."

"Why on earth would I let you waltz into that wretched forest - and alone, as I assumed you intended to go - just to give that traitor a trinket?"

"I actually didn't intend to go alone. I was going to take Tauriel. She knows the forest and the kingdom, so she could help me out in case of, er, issues."

"I don't understand why you would go to such lengths for someone so undeserving!"

You decide to turn on the love. "Because," you say, draping yourself over his shoulders, "if the situations were reversed, wouldn't you want a memento of me?"

Thorin grudgingly smiles at your games but shakes his head. "That's not going to work."

"What!" you exclaim indignantly. "Why not?"

"Because you're appealing to my sense of sympathy, and I have none for him."

"Damn, Thorin!" you laugh in spite of yourself. "That's pretty cold! I'm kind of impressed. Alright, well, if you're going to be difficult, I should probably tell you that I already know where the necklace is, so I really could take it at any time."

It's his turn to be outraged. "You do not!"

You grin. "You wanna bet?"

Thorin falters and scowls at you. "Why is this so important?"

"Because I made a promise, and I want to keep it. Come on, just this last little trip, and then I'll have nothing to do but stay right here. And if I'm gone more than two weeks, you can burn down the entire forest and kill every Elf you see."

Thorin looks like he's seriously considering this offer. You roll your eyes and climb into bed.

You make the preparations. Thorin grumbles about it every step of the way. You ignore him. You've gotten quite good at doing are enamored once you find the necklace. It's a delicate thing of fine silver and white jewels that remind you of the Arkenstone. You can definitely understand why Thranduil would want it back, and why the Dwarves would be so keen on keeping it. It's so beautiful that you have Ori make a sketch of it for reference, because you kind of want one and you know Thorin would be only too happy to have it made for you.

Taurel is shocked but agreeable when you ask her to escort you through Mirkwood. You're excited for the trip and intend to make the most of the bonding experience.

Thorin pointedly reminds you of your promise should you not return in a fortnight as you check your horse's saddle.

"Darling, if I didn't know you better, I would think that you just want an excuse to invade Mirkwood," you say sarcastically, turning to him.

"You know me just as well," he returns. "So give me a reason, but do not stay away long."

"I won't," you promise. "It'll just be in and out. We probably won't even spend the night, because I doubt he'll even invite us to spend the night. Everything will be fine."

Thorin pulls you in for a kiss. "Be careful," he sighs.

"Always am. I'll be back before you know it."

You're not sure what you're expecting from Tauriel. You only know as much about her as you've seen; you wonder if and how she's changed since Erebor was rebuilt. You do know that she lives in Dale, much to Kili's anguish. She had refused to move in with him immediately, whether out of chastity or shyness, you intended to find out.

"I appreciate you coming with me," you say on the first night of camping. "I really didn't fancy navigating through Mirkwood on my own."

"The honor is mine, Your Majesty," Tauriel replies politely, poking at the fire.

You laugh. "You don't have to call me that! We're going to be family eventually, right?"

The fire illuminates the smile Tauriel tries to hide. "I suppose we will, yes."

"Exactly! So no titles. It feels weird to hear certain people use honorifics."

She looks up at you. "If you don't mind me saying, your comfortability with me is...surprising, given that we haven't had much time to get to know each other."

"That's what this trip is for!" you say brightly. "Well, it's one of the reasons, anyway. I wanted to get to know you, and since you don't live in Erebor, I haven't had the chance. We _are_ the only Elves here. We should stick together."

"Such lonely numbers are daunting, but I have encountered less hostility than I expected. I imagine I have you do thank for that."

You raise a eyebrow. "How d'you figure?"

"You are much beloved by your people. Perhaps they are extending the same regard to me since I live so close to the Mountain."

"I - that's very nice of you to say - um - how come you _don't_ live in the Mountain?" you blurt out. "I mean - never mind, that was invasive, you don't have to answer - "

"It's alright. In truth, I...I am afraid to."

"Afraid?" you repeat, blinking. "Afraid of what? Of who? Do I need to hurt someone?"

"No, not at all! It may just be me being silly, but...I am afraid of what people will say."

You nod wisely. "I felt the same way when I first moved in."

She looks up at you, surprised. "Truly?"

"Yeah. I thought everyone would be furious about it. I did get a lot of stares for a while, but no one was actually ever hostile to my face. They were probably afraid of the consequences for it. I'm sure everyone will be at least cordial to you. Y'know, _or else_."

"I appreciate your kindness. I will consider it."

The conversation lulls after that. Tauriel seems to have more on her mind that she's not inclined to share, so you stretch out on your bedroll. The stars in the vast sky above twinkle down at you like the winking of an old friend. It's been a while since you've seen them; Erebor doesn't exactly have a lot of windows. You close your eyes and smile, reliving as you always do while camping your first adventure in Middle Earth.

Tauriel asks out of the blue, "Would the King be agreeable if I were to move in?"

You open your eyes and sit up. "Would _Thorin_ mind?"

"His permission would be a large factor - "

"Tauriel, you don't have to worry about Thorin at _all_ ," you chuckle. "I don't think he's considered it, but he wouldn't be averse to it, because he would be a dirty hypocrite if he was."

"As it is, I would feel better if - "

"I'll ask for you," you promise. "Don't worry about a thing."

"Thank you," she says quietly. "Goodnight, Maje - Aniel. Goodnight."

* * *

The journey to Mirkwood is a pleasant one. You and Tauriel talk every night before bed. Even when you pass into the forest - which is somewhat less creepy now - the mood remains light. You find out about Tauriel's life in Mirkwood, about how she rose through the ranks to become Captain of the Guard, and how and why she made the decision to abandon all of that to come save Kili. In return, you tell her the story you made up to be your past. You figure you have a good thing going.

The evening before you're to arrive at the gates, Tauriel says as you're winding down for bed, "I know we've come all this way for a reason, but I want you to be sure that you want to go through with this."

You raise your eyebrows at her. "You think I shouldn't?"

"I think you should recall your last visit here."

"Thranduil won't lock us up," you say confidently.

"You know this for certain?"

"Er...well, no, but I'm pretty sure he won't. I mean, he has to know by now that I married Thorin, and that Thorin will absolutely destroy him if he pulls anything. Besides, I thought we were all cool after we fought together in the battle. Sort of like an unspoken truce."

"King Thranduil is very...temperamental."

You laugh. "That's one way of putting it."

"But if you are set, then I will see it through."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I heard you were banished."

"I am also sworn to protect you until we return home."

"Sworn? When did that happen?"

"It was a personal vow. My way of thanking you for your kindness. So I will not leave your side, come what may."

Emotion rises in your chest. "I'm very glad you'll be part of the family," you say sincerely. "And I can't wait for you to move in, and I'm glad I asked you to come with me."

Tauriel smiles, seeming to understand the sentiment behind your babble. "I am also glad."

You hadn't viewed Tauriel as a protector during the trip, but as a companion. That changes when the gates to the Woodland Realm appear through the trees, and you are very hard put not to hide behind her. You certainly _haven't_ forgotten your last visit to Mirkwood. You really hope it doesn't end with another barrel escape.

The guards at the gate are shocked to see Tauriel. She speaks to them in Elvish. You catch a few words of it and understand that she is explaining the situation. The guards look very unsure, but eventually they open the gates. Four more guards escort you inside, staying almost oppressively close as they guide you to the throne room. This heavily reminds you of the first time you made this walk.

Thranduil is not draped carelessly across his throne as he was before. He is rigid and alert and on the verge of rising as you and Tauriel approach him. You greet him politely in Elvish, suddenly very glad you had the chance to learn the language before this meeting.

"I was told you could not speak Elvish," he murmured.

"I learned."

"Clearly you have _not_ learned, to have returned here voluntarily."

You sigh. Thranduil is obviously not in a diplomatic mood, so you decide to get down to business. "I made this trip to fulfill the promise I made you a while ago. There wasn't a chance to give it to you after the battle, so I'm giving it to you now."

You withdraw the carefully packaged necklace from your satchel and unwrap it for Thranduil to see. His blue eyes widen as the gentle rays of sun penetrating the canopy glint off the pure jewels. "Is that...?" he whispers.

"It belongs to you."

Thranduil sweeps down from his throne and takes the package like it is made of the most fragile glass. Ghosts of emotion and memory shadow his face for a moment before he looks sharply back at you. "What benefit is this to you?" he asks suspiciously.

"Benefit? Er, well, I guess it's something I can check off my to-do list. I don't have any ulterior motives, if that's what you're asking."

"And what do you expect in return?"

"I _expect_ that you'll cherish this token forever. Have you really never had anyone do anything for you out of the kindness of their heart?"

He ignores the jab. He gazes at the necklace for a long time. His final question is a simple, "Why?"

"Because you deserve it."

Thranduil does not thank you for returning the treasure. You may have keeled over from shock if he had expressed gratitude. But what he does say is surprising enough. "Leave this place," he says quietly, eyes again on the necklace. "Do not return unless invited, and do not allow her to trespass again."

You incline her head once and shoot Tauriel a commiserating look. The two of you exit without so much as a goodbye. The gates close behind you, leaving you once more in the forest, and just like that, the trip is concluded with a very anticlimactic finish.

"Did...did he insinuate that he might invite me back at some point?" you wonder aloud, still not completely sure if you had heard right.

"I believe he did," Tauriel murmurs. "He must have deeply touched by the gift. You did a good thing, Aniel."

"Yeah, guess I did. Much as I hate to turn right around, there's not much to do in Mirkwood. We may as well head home."

The trip takes ten days from start to finish, which is four days short of the fortnight limit you gave Thorin before he was allowed to destroy the forest. You are very pleased to return to the Mountain in one piece and of your own free will. Thorin gives a reluctant smile like he knows what you're thinking.

"I'm glad you're home," he says as though admitting defeat.

"Good. I was hoping my presence would be enough to ease the disappointment of not being allowed to burn Mirkwood."

Thorin chuckles and spins you around. "I hope you enjoyed your trip, because you said you'd be done leaving for a while, and I intend to hold you to that."

"I _am_ done leaving. You're stuck with me."

"Excellent."

It feels quite nice to have completed everything on your to-do list. You'd gone hunting with the boys (not necessarily planned, but a trip all the same), done a stint in Rivendell, and returned Thranduil's necklace to him. Nothing you can think of will draw you away from home for a long time. You settle back in your bed with a sigh of contentment.

"Are we allowed to stay in our room for, like, an entire day?" you ask wistfully.

"If that's what you want," Thorin answers, sliding in beside you.

"Wow, really?"

"Of course. Whatever you want."

You laugh. "No, we can't really stay in. That would be irresponsible. I'll come hang out with you while you work instead."

"That would be a treat. Perhaps your presence will soften the stubbornness I usually must endure."

"I do have that effect on people, don't I? Oh, and speaking of affecting! Tauriel wants to move into the Mountain."

Thorin raises his eyebrows. "Tauriel? The Elf Kili is courting?"

"Yeah. She lives in Dale at the moment, but she mentioned she'd quite like to move to Erebor."

"Why hasn't she done it already? I'm sure Kili would be thrilled."

"She said she wanted your permission first."

"My _permission_? As if I could withhold it! How could I deny my nephew's intended, be she Elf or other?"

You grin widely and kiss him. "You, Thorin Oakenshield, have turned into a lover of Elves," you accuse playfully.

" _Some_ Elves," he corrects you. "Only _one_ Elf, really. But I would not refuse Tauriel when she is to be family anyway."

"Good. Then this is going to be a lovely time to be at home."


	10. Durin's Day

Alright, so I was going to post this chapter in honor of the new year. Instead, my computer decided to completely shit itself and erase everything I had on it, including all the progress I had done on this chapter. So I rewrote it, though not in time for the end of 2015. So here's a late happy new year, and may your 2016 be wonderful!

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

Summer blends into fall, which passes in a string of blissful days. The weather turns chilly, the harvest comes in, and suddenly there is only one topic on anyone's minds: Durin's Day, the new year. It hardly occurs to you that the time is nearing until you hear Kili mention it.

"Already?" you gasp. "Have we really been here a whole year?"

"It is hard to believe, isn't it? You should keep an eye out for all the parties and events. I'm sure this year will be particularly special since it's our first time celebrating at home in so long."

"Are there any particular traditions for Durin's Day I should be aware of?"

"We spend time with our friends and family and reflect on the past year and exchange gifts. And this year there will probably be a huge feast in the biggest hall."

You do the math. The holiday is less than three weeks away. If you're going to work out a decent present for Thorin, you'll have to start right now. After a good session of thinking, you decide to make him braid cuffs. It's a small but meaningful gift that you're sure you can figure out how to make in the allotted time.

You start by carving a mold into a block of wood like you had when you made the model of the Mountain. It takes a few hours and several logs to obtain a level of detail you're satisfied with. Mold in hand, you descend to the forges, this time making very sure to ask for directions when you get even the slightest bit out of sorts.

You find an area to work and obtain some molten silver. You've never cast anything before, but it's the new year, so why not? You carefully pour the metal into the mold. The end result is an adorable little bead. Three more join it before the wooden mold is too burned to serve. Inserting the tiny pins in the hinges is much less enjoyable and nearly impossible, but you manage, and after a nice polishing, the result of all your hard work lies gleaming in your palm.

You're excited to tempt Thorin with hints about his gifts and take the chance to do so that evening. "I finished your present for Durin's Day," you gloat.

"What a coincidence," he says lightly. "So have I."

You're instantly derailed. "Ooh, really? What is it?"

"You'll have to wait and see. I think you'll like it, though. You actually requested it."

"I did?" You blink. "I don't remember asking for anything. Wait, wait, I'm getting distracted! _I'm_ supposed to be teasing _you_!"

"By all means, then."

You pout. "You're not the least bit curious."

"I am extremely curious as to what you could have possibly gotten up to, but I can wait. After all, you are already the greatest gift I could ask for."

"I - you - you made me forget what I was talking about!"

"Durin's Day?" he reminds you innocently. You squint at him. "Go ahead and tease me. I'm all ears."

"Well, it's practical and I made it all by myself and I'm really excited because you can use it every day."

"That certainly opens up the possibilities. I'll not guess, though, so as not to spoil it."

"Now, about _my_ present..."

"You'll have to have a bit of patience for that, love."

"Patience is the one thing I do have!"

The atmosphere becomes increasingly charged with anticipation the closer it gets to the holiday. Decorations adorn every stable surface, turning Erebor silver and gold. Individual parties pop up and run their course. Wishes for a good new year are as common as dust from the mines. You love the extra cheer and goodwill the season has brought.

The season also brings a particularly unexpected treat. Two days before the new year, Thorin enters the room during the late afternoon, uncharacteristically excited. "We're going to a play," he tells you, eyes gleaming.

"A play?" you repeat, shocked. "I didn't know Dwarves do theatre!"

"It's an important part of our culture. Most plays are historical reenactments that keep the young ones aware of the past. This one should be particularly interesting. So go on, go get dressed!"

You throw on the proper attire, and you and Thorin meet Fili, Kili, and Dis outside a theatre in a part of Erebor you've never been to before. The interior of the theatre is a work of art in itself: thick black tapestries hang on the walls for acoustics' sake, the seating is extensive and comfortable, and the stage itself has the artistry of one on Broadway. Your group snags some prime seats near the orchestra pit.

You fidget impatiently as the orchestra tunes. "What are we seeing?" you ask Thorin.

"Wait and see," he replies with a sly smile.

"Wha - why can't you just _tell_ me?!"

"I think you'll appreciate it more if it's a surprise."

You groan and wiggle in your seat. You're just about to explode when the lights dim and the orchestra strikes up a tune. From there, all the attention you can possibly muster is locked on the stage.

You can't initially work out what historic event this particular play is supposed to be representing. It begins with a bunch of Dwarves coming to a friend's house for a party, but what sort of party was so wild that it made history? Only when a female actor who is clearly on platform shoes appears to the outrage of the others do you understand.

"It's us!" you gasp aloud, forgetting the etiquiette of the theatre. "This is _our_ story!"

It is indeed the story of the quest to reclaim Erebor, and you notice right away that the writers took quite a few "creative freedoms" with some of the details. The most glaring and amusing alteration is the portrayal of your and Thorin's immediate relationship. Instead of outright dislike, the dynamic becomes a love-hate dance full of witty banter. It's what could have been were you a little braver and Thorin less grouchy. Still, you wonder what prompted the change. Perhaps this was how the story was told, or it evolved this way, or it was assumed to have been such, or maybe the writers didn't want to offend anyone by suggesting that the King and Queen's relationship had ever been lacking any kindness.

The play company fights its way through trolls and goblins and spiders and orcs and Smaug himself. The audience _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s and laughs in all the right places. Despite already knowing the story, you're so engrossed that nothing short of the Mountain imploding could shake your attention. The special effects are particularly impressive, given the level of technology available; the goblin and orc masks are grotesquely realistic, and the spiders are gross, and Smaug goes up in an ironic ball of multicolored flame and sparks upon his death.

It's only at the end when the telling turns questionable. You'd long suspected that the standard story that circulated had exaggerated your heroics in the final battle - how else would the Dwarves accept you so quickly? - and now you have proof. The Ravenhill scene runs quickly down the spectrum from "creative liberties" to "kind of cheesy". For example, you recall quite clearly going over the frozen waterfall and having to claw you way back up. You do _not_ remember being under constant fire from a barrage of arrows the whole time. The fight with Azog is even worse, as you're certain you did not dramatically throw yourself between Azog and a staggered Thorin to take a devastating hit - it was more of a charging tackle. Nevertheless, the audience gasps at the selfless act. The play concludes with you and Thorin confessing your feelings for each other as you lie in his arms, and then a flash-forward to the glorious retaking of the Mountain.

The actors receive a well-earned standing ovation. You bounce as you clap, thrilled to have been able to relive the adventure of a lifetime without having to sleep outside even once. After the curtains close, you're sure to seek out the cast and gush to them about how wonderful everything was. The actors are humble, but they seem to be very pleased with your praise.

"That was amazing!" you chirp, exiting the theatre with the others. "Wasn't it? Did you all love it?"

Dis says, "It certainly was a treat, though I didn't like seeing the sort of danger you all were in."

"Don't worry, _amad_ , we were only in mortal peril every other day," Kili says brightly.

"It _was_ good," Thorin agrees. He looks very satisfied.

Dis laughs. "You would enjoy it. How long has it been since you've seen a play?"

You blink at Thorin. "You like theatre?"

Thorin shoots Dis a look and doesn't respond, but you're not about to let this new facet of your husband's personality go unexamined. When you go to bed that night, you roll over to face him and say suggestively, "So...I heard you're into performing arts."

"Dis does not know when to leave childhood in the past," Thorin grumbles.

"But that's so cute! Did the three of you put on skits when you were little?"

"Aniel, there are thousands of rooms in this Mountain, and I _will_ go and sleep in one of them."

You cackle into his shoulder at the dubious threat. "I wasn't teasing, I really want to know! I never thought you would be interested in it. I like the idea."

"I...enjoy theatre, yes," he admits.

"Were you ever in any shows?"

"No."

"If I wrote a play, would you be in it?"

"I would do much for you, but I won't do that."

"Yeah, fair enough. We should go see more plays, though. The show was fantastic, even considering the, uh, artistic freedoms taken with the script."

"It's a shame Bilbo wasn't here to see it. I think he would have enjoyed it."

"Bilbo?" you repeat, looking at him sharply.

"I wrote him a few months ago and invited him for the holiday. I have a small thing planned for the company, and the company would not be complete without its burglar."

Bilbo arrives early in the morning of Durin's Day. You're so excited to see him that you spin him around and around in a tight hug. "You missed it!" you exclaim once you set him down. "You missed the play!"

"Hello to you, too," he laughs.

"Oh, right, greetings come first. Hello, Bilbo! How have you been? How has the Shire been? How has - ?"

"Goodness, I forgot how excitable you are! I have been very well, and the Shire is as peaceful as ever. Now, what about a play?"

"We went to a play the other day and - oh, but I don't want to spoil it. I'll bet we could go and see it again before you leave."

Thorin comes just then. He embraces Bilbo briefly. "I'm glad you could come, my friend. It wouldn't have been a proper celebration without you."

"Thank you very much for inviting me! I'm quite honored to be part of such an important celebration. And look at this!" Bilbo gazes around the bustling atrium. "Erebor is alive again! Just as beautiful as I imagined it should be. I should like to have a tour sometime."

"I'll take you myself. You're not the only one who should have a tour," Thorin says, winking at you. You make a face back.

You chatter at Bilbo all the way to his room. Without such instant communication as texting and calling, there's much catching up to do. He hasn't been up to much, about which he seems very pleased, but he's very interested to hear all about your most recent adventures.

"Well, I got lost in the mines the other month, which is why Thorin was teasing me," you begin.

"The mines?" Bilbo blinks up at you. "What were you doing down there?"

"I wasn't. I was trying to get to the forges."

"My word, Aniel!"

I shrugged. "It happens."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I lost my good gardening trowel for a whole week."

You laugh. That Bilbo now only has such non-critical worries is very reassuring. "Actually, yes, it does."

You let Bilbo get some rest before the epic party that will surely be the night. Meanwhile, you select an outfit that will be both appropriate and allow for revelry. You're browsing through the closet when Thorin's arms slip around your waist.

"I have something for you before you get dressed," he says with a gentle kiss on your jaw.

"Is it my present?"

"Right, as always."

"Then I'll get yours, too!"

You run and grab the little velvet bag you put the clasps in from one of your many jewelry boxes. Thorin pulls a flat box from nowhere. You both sit on the bed, you vibrating with excitement. Thorin sets his box on your lap and places your hands on it. You yank it open with little decorum.

Inside is the most stunning necklace you've ever seen. It drips with rows and rows of starlight jewels of varying cuts that flow to a pointed end. The whole piece would take up half of your chest. You hesitate in even touching it and look up at Thorin with wide eyes.

"I had it from a very artistic friend of ours that you fancied a nice necklace," Thorin says with a smile.

"Ori," you realize. "Yes, I had him make a sketch of Thranduil's necklace. Did you - ?"

"I made a better one. Do you like it?"

"Of _course_ I do! Goodness, whatever will I wear it with?"

"Wear it tonight! That's why I'm giving it to you now. You'll make it look stunning."

You sigh. "Well, mine's no night sky, but I think you'll like it! I made them all by myself."

"And that's why I'll like it. Give it here."

You hand over the bag. He shakes the clasps into his palm. He gapes slightly as he realizes what they are. You can't help but feel a bit pleased at his reaction.

Thorin kisses you suddenly in a way that makes your head spin. " _Amralime_ , you made these for me?" he asks, his voice deep with emotion.

"Y-Yeah. You like them?"

"They are perfect, just like you. Put them in for me?"

You snap the beads into place at the ends of his braids, feeling quite accomplished. You've never made Thorin anything he could wear. For such a reaction, you think that you might have to change that.

Thorin takes a look in the mirror and then spins you around. You squeal and clutch onto him. "I should make you things more often," you giggle.

"I have a mind to desert the festivities tonight and have our own celebration," Thorin says, pulling you close.

"Really? Huh, well, happy new year to me!"

"You would be agreeable?"

"Agreeable to bedding you all night? Extremely."

"Hmm." Thorin glances to the window. It's still early afternoon. "Well, it looks like we've got time."

You'd come up to your room to get dressed. You end up doing the exact opposite.

It's early evening by the time you finally get dressed, which you do in a bit of a daze. You're not sure you'll be able to focus on the festivities of the night after the activities of the afternoon. Thorin is rather smug as he moves around the room, also dressing. You would have suggested extending your "celebration", but you're very curious to see what Thorin has in store for the company.

The sun is just sinking in the sky when you and Thorin go pick up Bilbo. Both of you ask Thorin where you're headed. He tells you to wait and see. You pick up a few more friends on the way; Balin and Dwalin and Bofur join you on the walk to wherever. You realize it once you're close: you're headed to the landing where the secret door was! What on earth did Thorin have planned?

The entire company eventually gathers on the landing. You enjoy catching up with them; you'd seen them from time to time, but it had been a long time since you'd all been together. Thorin soon steps up quietly. Silence falls.

He begins, "I could never until recently be accused of sentimentality..."

Everyone chuckles. Balin winks at you.

"But as the new year approached, I found myself thinking of how we would not be where we are today without every single person standing here. When I called for aid, you were the ones who answered, regardless of how dangerous and futile the underaking seemed. This is what we have to show for it: our homeland reclaimed, and Erebor restored. So I want to thank each of you for your courage and loyalty."

Everyone bows low in return. Bilbo says softly, "The sun has set."

Indeed, while Thorin was talking, the sun had set and the moon had come out. You realize with a start that you were standing in this same spot exactly one year ago, when Erebor was still a deserted kingdom of old and Smaug still hoarded its treasure. Now Erebor is thriving and alive once more. So much has happened in the past year that you can hardly comprehend it. You catch Thorin's eye. He gives you a small smile, indicating that the timing and location of his speech were no accident.

It's something incredible to walk into Erebor with the same people at the same time on the same day one year later and reflect on how much had changed. The walls and floors are no longer dull with dust and neglect. It's not so oppressively silent that you can hear your heart beating. And, of course, there's no impending sense of danger since the slumbering dragon has long been displaced. You make your way through the various parties going on and bleeding into one another. The Mountain is so alive tonight that it makes you emotional.

Everyone cheers when the company enters the feast hall. You take your place at the table beside Thorin. The amount of food laid out is staggering, but then again so is the amount of Dwarves present. You hardly know where to begin with eating, so instead you lean over to Thorin.

"That was beautiful of you to do," you tell him, planting a kiss on his temple. "I can't believe it's been a whole year since we first arrived here."

"Neither can I. So much has changed, and for the better. I wouldn't have it any other way."

The celebration goes on for hours. Ale flows like the Anduin. There's enough food to feed a small country. Songs compete with each other to be the loudest. Dancers don't confine their activities to the floor. There's so much unrestrained joy and excitement that it energizes you to join in. You drag Thorin to the dancing area. The two of you spin with the other couples, and Thorin is actually laughing, and suddenly it's the best Durin's Day in history.

You're not really sure how you ended up back in your room, only that you and Thorin are laughing at an already-forgotten joke when you collapse on the bed. You're vaguely aware that maybe you partied a little *too* hard, but your limbs are tingly and your stomach hurts from laughing, so you really don't care.

"That was better...than the coronation," Thorin mumbles, snuggling in the pillows.

"Turning in already?" you tease.

"You're not?"

"Nah, it's the new year! Live a little!"

Thorin joins you on the furs by the fireplace. You roll around luxuriously on them and giggle. He retrieves some pillows and a quilt and the two of you make a cozy nest there in the floor. All the layers in conjunction with the fire heats you up quickly, so you oh-so-casually peel off a few layers of clothes and toss them. Thorin catches your drift, and it's not long before all the two of you are wearing is the blanket. You feel very accomplished.

"I have a question," you begin slyly, rolling over to face him.

He grins. "Ask away."

"That time you saw me dancing naked in the woods..."

"Will you ever let me live that down?!"

"Not as long as I live. What did you think was going on before you realized it was me?"

"I thought you were a wood nymph or some other such creature."

"You did not!"

"I did! You move beautifully, by the way, clothed or not."

You blush and cover your face. "Is it even possible for me to make you flustered?"

"You could always use this new year to find out."

You laugh and kiss him. You wouldn't have thought a year ago that you'd end up here. A year ago, you weren't even thinking more than a few days ahead. Now, however, the future is laid out in front of you for decades to come, and it is exceedingly bright.


	11. Politicking

Enjoy your foray into the world of extended politics! I've got the next several chapter matters planned out, though does that mean they'll be written in a timely manner? Not with work being how it is, but I'll do my best!

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

After the fantastic, semi-there blur that was the Durin's Day party, Erebor faces a new year with high spirits. Your spirits are just as high until Thorin drops a bomb on you one morning. He's getting ready for the day when he says out of the blue, "By the way, love, I forgot to mention - "

"That's a habit of yours, I've noticed," you mutter.

"Now that it's the new year, the leaders of all seven Dwarf kingdoms are meeting in Ered Luin to discuss affairs."

"Oh," you say a bit disappointedly. "How long will you be gone?"

"It's not just me going. Dis or Balin usually accompanies me, but this year that honor falls to you."

"Wait, to _me_?! Why?"

"You are the queen now, Aniel, and unfortunately that is not all flower crowns and plays."

"No, I know that, but - " You quake at the prospect of meeting all the most powerful Dwarves in Middle Earth at once. "Shouldn't you go ahead and take Balin or Dis? Won't they be offended that they don't get to go?"

"Not at all. I honestly doubt they'll envy you."

"Oh, that makes me feel _so_ much better," you groan.

"It will be fine, I promise."

You squint at him. "You are awful at lying."

"We'll discuss it later," he amends.

The only thing you intend to "discuss later" is how terrible he is at breaking difficult news. Presently, you seek Balin, one of your favorite people to get advice from. He frequents the archives, so you head down to see him.

"Morning, lass," he greets. "What's on your mind?"

"Apparently the new year's meeting at Ered Luin is coming up," you say darkly.

"Ah, already? How time flies!"

"And apparently _I_ have to go with Thorin."

" _Oh_." Balin looks over his spectacles at you. "Well, it certainly is an experience..."

"A bad one, I've heard."

"It's, er...an experience."

"Just go ahead and tell me that I won't survive it," you sigh.

"The yearly meeting has never resulted in death. A bit of bloodshed, yes, but there's never been a casualty."

"There's been bloodshed over - over _politics_?!" you exclaim, shocked.

"Well, I have been told that Dwarves can be rather stubborn on occasion."

"Okay, fine, but - but shouldn't Dwarf lords know better?"

Balin raises an eyebrow at you. "Have you _met_ Thorin Oakenshield?"

You flop pathetically into a chair, ready to accept your impending doom.

"Thorin is actually one of the more reasonable of the lot," he continues. "I am concerned, though, given your history with the Firebeards..."

"The Firebeards!" you shriek, sitting upright. "I didn't even think about - oh no, I'm going to have to face Ardath again! I don't know if I can survive another fight with him! And I'm sure he's not the only one who will hate me, and - "

"Calm down, lass," Balin says loudly over your rising hysterics. "If Thorin really thought it was dangerous, he would not bring you along."

"Really? You sure about that? Because he was dead set on killing a dragon by himself once, so I feel like his perception of _dangerous_ is more than a little skewed."

"In truth, I think it's good that you go. Your influence would do them well. You could resolve any problems with a bit more finesse than is usually applied."

"So you're telling me that you think I will be able to talk any amount of sense into a room full of male Dwarves? Balin, you are dear to my heart, but you have lost it."

"Just give it a try," he encourages. "One meeting won't kill you...most likely."

You see no way out of your impending death by stares of hatred, so it is with a heavy heart that you set out from Erebor with Thorin and Bilbo. The plan is to drop Bilbo off at the Shire before continuing to Ered Luin, so you'll all be traveling together for a while.

"It's not so bad," Bilbo says, trying to brighten your mood. "It's like we're back on our adventure. You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Yeah..." you say grudgingly. "I guess this is it. My last adventure on this earth. It'll be a good final few days."

Thorin rolls his eyes.

"You are being dramatic," Bilbo says firmly. "D'you see who's right there on that horse next to you? You managed to get the single most stubborn Dwarf in Middle Earth to like you enough to marry you. You'll do fine with the rest of them."

You smile unwillingly but fully. "Wise as ever, Bilbo."

"There's a smile! That's what I like to see. We'll have a pleasant trip, or so I assume - traveling with the two of you has never gone smoothly before."

You and Thorin laugh, and your mood is effectively lightened.

Thankfully, the trip _does_ go well. Bilbo parts at Bag End with a farewell and an invitation to stop in on your way back. That leaves just you and Thorin to continue to Ered Luin, and upon realizing this, the anxiety returns.

"What are you worried about, love?" Thorin asks over the fire one evening.

"Thorin, the last time I met another Dwarf-lord, he came all the way from here to try to kill me. Now I'm gonna be sitting with four others discussing political matters like I belong there!"

"You _do_ belong there," he says firmly. "Regardless, do you really think I'd allow them to lay a finger on you?"

"So you're just going to kill them all?"

"That might end up being rather inconvenient, but it's not something I've ruled out."

You groan and fall back on the bedroll.

Thorin lays down beside you. "You're making a mountain of a mole hill. I'll tell you truthfully that there will likely be some resistance, but I am very sure that you'll disarm them as thoroughly as you have every other Dwarf you've ever met."

You roll to face him. "You really think so?"

"I know so." He kisses your brow. "And at the very worst, you can just sit there and listen and not get involved. But I think it is very brave of you to come along despite your fears."

"Yes, well, it's my duty, isn't it? And it wouldn't be wise of me to let you come alone since you have a grudge with one of them."

"Yes, Ardath Firebeard..." Thorin glowers into the darkness. "It should be _interesting_ to see him again."

"That's a word for it."

"Well, whatever happens, I'm fairly sure we could take them all together if we need to fight our way out."

"Your optimism is so encouraging."

You've never been to Ered Luin, so you're not sure what to expect. Given its geographical location, you find that foolish in retrospect. It is a Dwarf city, and the Dwarves of this city have never seen an Elf ride so boldy through their streets. People stop and openly gape and whisper about you as you and Thorin pass. It's like the beginning of Erebor all over again. Their stares make you uncomfortable.

"They're looking at me," you murmur to Thorin. "And don't you dare say it's because I'm beautiful!"

Thorin chuckles unconcernedly. "Let them look. You care too much about what others think of you, love."

"Only when they could possibly start an angry mob."

He takes your hand. "You are the queen of the greatest Dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth. I feel like you don't quite understand what that means, but you're about to learn."

You drop the subject. You cannot be comforted, and he'll only keep trying, so there's no point in continuing the conversation. Instead you comment, "Ered Luin is gorgeous. It's kind of funny to see Dwarves not living underground, but the buildings are spectacular."

"There'd hardly be room for all of us in the mountains of the world. Anyway, this is a major trading town in the West. Men come and go, and they tend to prefer wooden accommodations to stone. And speaking of, we're here."

The meeting hall was partially constructed and partially dug into the rock. The facade alone was grand, seemingly able to sleep a hundred, and surely it was only more impressive further in.

The horses stop in the courtyard and you and Thorin dismount. You stick very close to him and pointedly ignore all the stares from the well-clad Dwarves outside. Your tiara suddenly weighs very heavily on your head, less of a gift and more of a burden.

The doorman gapes openly at you. You force a smile in return. Eyes still on you, he asks, "King Thorin?"

"Indeed. My wife will be accompanying me to the gathering."

"As you wish, Your Majesty. We are honored to welcome you."

And just like that, you're inside. You let out a sigh of relief, feeling like a spy who has just infiltrated a top-secret meeting. Thorin leads you up to a very nice room that's only a little bit smaller than yours at home.

"The meeting begins tomorrow, so get some rest," Thorin says.

"Oh. Tomorrow. Naturally." You wrinkle your nose and kick off your shoes. "I have earned a long, hot bath."

Thorin so kindly drags in the copper tub and fills it. You happily strip down. When you look up, Thorin is watching you with raised eyebrows. "What?" you say carelessly. "You've seen it all before."

"I think this tub could fit two, if you're willing," he responds.

" _If_? Thorin, I am _always_ willing."

Unsurprisingly, it is a very short bath, and when you wake, the meeting could not be further from your mind. It is only when Thorin begins dressing particularly nicely does it all come rushing back. You groan into the pillow before doing the same. You choose as Dwarvish an outfit as possible, so that only your pointed ears and clean face could give you away. You hope it's enough.

"You'll do fine," Thorin murmurs to you as you walk down the hall. "I'm right here if you need me, and you're right here in case I try to start a war with the Firebeards."

You laugh nervously. "I feel like I wouldn't be able to stop you if you really wanted to do it."

An unexpected treat is waiting in the meeting room's atrium: you notice a slightly familiar mohawk of white-tipped red hair. Dain turns around at Thorin's call. "Cousin!" he booms, thumping over. He and Thorin embrace. "We're here again, eh?"

"And it should be a particularly interesting gathering, given who I have with me."

"And my lady cousin!" Dain hugs you, too, almost crushing your ribs. "What a sight for sore eyes! Aye, you'll make for a nice change."

You make a face. "I'm glad my presence will be so amusing for you, Dain."

"Ahh, forgive me, Ani, but talking politics with this lot is like teaching a boar to dance. Maybe you'll make them mad enough for us to get something done!"

"You're not helping, Dain," Thorin says flatly.

"Don't worry about it, lass. If anyone takes issue with you, I'll knock some sense into them."

"Good," you say tensely, "because the Firebeards are here."

You'd know *that* fiery mane anywhere, despite only seeing it once. Ardath, thankfully, is conversing with someone, but Daegath notices you; he inclines his head respectfully, and you do the same.

"You have a quarrel with the Firebeards?"

"More like Ardath has a quarrel with me."

You briefly recount the circumstances to him. Dain is quivering with indignation by the end of the story. "The nerve!" he exclaims. "The disrespect! I would have cut him down then and there!"

"That would have been counterproductive."

"Well, let's see what your mercy has accomplished. Looks like they're all going in. It's starting."

You take a deep breath and follow him and Thorin through the heavy wooden doors.

The meeting chamber itself is surprisingly claustrophobic for Dwarf design. There's not much room to maneuver around the large round table. Torches hang in brackets in intervals around the circular room, and a massive iron chandelier drips from the domed ceiling, all in all providing enough light to work by. There are fifteen seats in all; fourteen for the lords and their plus ones, and one for a scribe, the record-keeper for the meeting. You take a seat between Thorin and Dain and feel a bit safer for it, though they can't deflect the unabashed stares.

The meeting is called to order by seemingly the oldest Dwarf in the room. That order breaks down in mere minutes; everyone is suddenly shouting in Khuzdul. You're a bit unnerved by the sudden change. Thorin is not shouting, to your surprise. He's leaned back in his ornate chair, watching the proceedings disinterestedly.

"Is it always like this?" you ask him, concerned.

"Until the first intermission, yes. Much can happen in a year, and these meetings usually only last three days."

"But how is anyone supposed to hear what anyone else is saying?"

"Years at this trains the ear. I've already gotten the gist of every grievance here. Now there's nothing to do but let them shout themselves quiet."

You fall silent and try to follow six other threads of conversation in a language you can just barely be considered fluent in. There's talk of trade and precious metals and land and outlaws, but that's as much as you can make of it. You lean over and inquire, "Did _you_ used to do this?"

"What, shout?"

"Yeah."

Thorin smiles slyly. "Why ever would you think I'm the shouting sort?"

"You _did_!" you accuse, laughing. "Why aren't you doing it now?"

"Your presence makes me more rational than usual. Anyway, it's hardly productive. Can you imagine if it were all like this?"

You shudder. "I'd go deaf or mad before the third day."

"I'll tell you a secret, though - Dis used to yell right back when she came."

You double over with laughter. True or not, the image of your favorite lady Dwarf going toe to toe with these patriarchs is glorious and quite in her nature.

If nothing else, the first few hours of the meeting are a study in Dwarvish socialization and culture. The yelling hardly dies down, yet it seems that the scribe keeps up with ease. The men gesticulate violently as they speak, but no fights break out despite what sounds like hostile tones. Then again, perhaps the tones aren't hostile at all. You've learned that Dwarves are a passionate, emotional people who are prone to shouting even under normal circumstances. You occasionally question Thorin about you observations. His responses are very enlightening.

The Dwarf who called order finally makes himself heard over the din to announce the intermission. Your ears ring in the sudden silence. Everyone vacates the chamber, and, to your surprise, no brawls immediately break out in the atrium.

"That...was insane," you whisper to Thorin.

"That's politics, love. Aren't you glad you came?"

"Oh, you're a riot."

Everyone is talking and visiting. The eldest Dwarf makes his way over to you. You're shocked when he bows low and says cheerfully, "Balas Broadbeam, Your Majesty, very much at your service!"

"Oh!" You hurry to bow back. "Aniel, very much at yours!"

Thorin, who had frowned and tensed when Balas approached, relaxes at the elder's demeanor. The two of them shake hands.

"I'm glad you brought your wife, Thorin," Balas says genially. "I've wanted to meet her."

"And I'm glad you're so receptive," Thorin responds slowly, as if he doesn't trust the sincerity of the other's sentiment.

"There is little that can shake these old bones anymore, but I'll admit I was surprised when I heard of your choice in queen. But if the stories of battle are to be believed, she's an Elf with the fire of a Dwarf! Then I heard of the incident with Firebeard over there - "

You raise your eyebrows. So word _had_ spread.

" - you bested him _and_ spared him! We saw not a hair of his beard for months afterwards! Do indulge me, my lady, for I've wanted to know - why _did_ you show him mercy?"

"Well, it - it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Anyway, I couldn't very well up and kill a Dwarf lord and start a civil war."

Balas looses a deep, booming laugh. "Aye, you'll be a fine addition to this council! I'd like to hear your input on each and every matter! Dwarves, for all our strengths, lack a certain finesse when it comes to sensitive matters."

You glance at Thorin. "So I've noticed."

"So speak up! You run our most powerful and influential kingdom, after all. Your voice would carry weight."

Balas moves on to speak to others. You turn immediately to Thorin. "He...doesn't hate me," you state, and it's almost a question.

Thorin nods. "I am both surprised and not. Balas and Balin are old friends, and are much alike. I hoped he would be agreeable."

"Okay, so this is good! Two out of six isn't bad! And maybe some of the others will be at least cordial!"

"We will see."

You squint at him. "That wasn't as positive an answer as I was expecting."

"Balas said it himself - he is old. The longer one lives, the more one experiences, and the more wisdom one gains."

"So you're saying that Dwarves relax with age?"

"Generally. Though some are beyond such hope."

It makes sense. Unfortunately, you see no beards as white as Balas's in the atrium, which means all the other Dwarves are still young and prejudiced. Well, you've done more difficult things than be nice to people who didn't like you.

Thorin points out the other Dwarf lords for your benefit. Besides Ardath and Balas, there is Thargon Stiffbeard, Lormur Blacklock, and Nondec Stonefoot. They're all in conversation with one another, though occasionally one of them will steal a glance at you. You have a very good idea about who they're talking about.

Your hunch is confirmed when one of them breaks away from the pack and heads purposefully towards you. He stops feet away and gives a low, if stiff, bow. "Lormur Blacklock, at your service, m'lady," he said gruffly.

You return the gesture. "Aniel, at yours. It's nice to meet you."

"It would have been amiss of me not to introduce myself. I have heard much about you."

You glance at Ardath. "I can only imagine. I hope you'll grant me the chance to make my own impression."

He seems surprised by your oblique acknowledgement of the elephant in the room and nods once to you and once to Thorin before returning to the group, which is not at all discreet as they resume their whispered council.

You smile, amused. "That looked painful for him."

Nondec Stonefoot snd Thargon Stiffbeard take their turns at introduction. You receive them as gracefully as you had the previous two. It's funnier every time they seem taken aback at your politeness, like they fully expect you to insult them on the spot. It does not escape your notice that Ardath does _not_ come to speak to you.

"I think you're a bit devious," Thorin says conversationally as the two of you make your way back into the meeting chamber once the break is over.

"Whatever do you mean, darling?" you ask innocently.

"Now that I'm not on the receiving end of it, I see how disarming your militant kindness can be."

You shrug. "You attract more flies with honey than vinegar. Besides, they haven't quite earned my ire - but the day isn't over yet."

Thorin chuckles quietly as Balas calls the gathering back to order. As predicted, everyone is much calmer. They go around the table and take turns presenting the business of each of their kingdoms, and they do it in Khuzdul. Whether it's out of habit or spite, you're not sure, but the joke is on them, because you can still understand most of it. Only Thorin, Dain, and surprisingly Balas are considerate enough to use Common. Any responses to them are in Khuzdul. You have to suppress a grin - the passive-aggressiveness in this room is almost an air quality hazard.

Nevertheless, you learn a lot about the rest of the Dwarvish world just from listening to the yearly summaries. The kingdoms in the West do much more business with Men, leading them to be a bit less isolationist than Erebor and the Iron Hills. You glean this from the way they consider the effects and wants of Men on their business and policies.

When it's Thorin's turn to speak, you listen lovingly to his account of the past year. Some of the points are news to you - you don't pretend to know _everything_ Thorin gets up to - but most of it is a nice reminder of how you spent the last twelve months. You notice the others listening with interest in spite of themselves to a few of your exploits and smirk.

Thorin looks to you when he's finished. "Anything to add?"

"No, I do believe that's all," you say oh so casually and in Khuzdul. You bite your tongue to keep from exploding into laughter when several jaws visibly drop.

The agenda calls for lunch before anything else. Dain accompanies you and Thorin down to the dining hall, cackling all the way. "The looks on their faces!" he shouts gleefully. "Serves them right! I'll admit I never before understood the point of your subtlety, Ani, but that was worth withholding a hundred clobberings!"

"That's exactly how I look at it," you respond peacefully.

"You play politics well for being without the background," Thorin says, taking your hand.

"I do, don't I?" You smile in satisfaction. "Though there's less politicking going on than I expected. It's noon and we've already had two breaks!"

Dain nods. "Precisely! What do you think would happen if we stayed cooped up in that room for too long?"

"Yep, I see your point."

Lunch is in a small dining hall. Though there is plenty, the buffet-style spread is much less than you're used to for usual feasts. The tables are also smaller, probably to give the delegates a chance to get away from each other for a little while. You and Thorin and Dain take one table, and you're surprised when Balas Broadbeam joins you.

"Bloody brilliant!" Balas declares, slamming his plate down on the table for emphasis. "I should have expected you to speak it, given your position, but what a revelation!"

"Thank you," you laugh, "but please don't think it was some carefully constructed plan to show them all up. It was more of a...gentle reminder."

"Either way!" He chuckles into his ale. "I don't mean to antagonize, but these lads take some things much too seriously. Perhaps they'll understand who they're dealing with now!"

His support is encouraging. Between that and the high from showing everyone up, you take a new interest in the conversation during the session after lunch. It's Lormur Blacklock's turn to present, and he's brought up his kingdom's problem with attacks by thieves in a particularly dense area of woods along a trade route. The others are weighing in on the best way to put a stop to the encounters. All of their suggestions involve some measure of returning violence, from sending armed escorts with the merchants to just torching the forest so the thieves have nowhere to hide. You consider what you would do if the problem were in your own lands.

"You could just hire them," you say offhandedly.

You didn't expect for your voice to carry in the noise; the conversation ceases and all eyes turn to you. You blink, surprised that they paid you any attention.

"You were saying, Your Majesty?" Lormur says very politely.

"Er - I was saying - well, I mean, I guess you _could_ try to outmatch them, but it sounds like that hasn't worked in the past, so why not offer them a job? Pay some of them a bit to act as escorts. That way some of the bandits are out of the picture and you have protection against the rest of them, and the guards are expendable if they fail."

They stare at you like you've started speaking in tongues. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Thorin grinning. You're a little concerned that the room is about to erupt into a riot when they abruptly resume discussion. You nearly fall out of the chair when you realize that they're going over the logistics of your idea.

"Did they just take the advice of a woman Elf?" you whisper to Thorin.

"You sound surprised," he whispers back. "You've never given bad advice before."

"That's very true, but I wouldn't expect any of them to think so!"

"You think differently than we do. I can't promise they'll agree with you on everything, but your insight may make their lives a little easier. It certainly has saved lives before."

You grin and scoot closer to him. You would have kissed him, but a multi-kingdom council didn't really seem like the best place to get cutesy with your husband.

Thorin is right - once they have a taste of your almighty wisdom, they expect your input on each matter. You don't manage a cure-all for each issue, but you do hit a few home runs. You even feel as though you've gained at least a grudging amount of respect from everyone there, Ardath Firebeard included.

Most of the Dwarf lords voluntarily bid you farewell when the three-day meeting concludes. They are much warmer towards you than they had been, and the ones whose problems you solved thank you. You see them off with a satisfying feeling of smugness.

"I like the yearly meetings," you admit to Thorin as the two of you load your horses.

"Oh?" He smiles knowlingly over at you. "Do you like the politics, or do you like the fact that you've managed to thoroughly charm the most important Dwarves in the land?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you say innocently, then laugh. "Truthfully, the politics were pretty neat. It's nice to know what's going on with the rest of our people."

"I'm not surprised you're suited for politics. I had a feeling you would be."

You raise your eyebrows, surprised. "Really?"

"Of course. You could talk a mountain into moving its place."

"I've already done it once," you snicker.

He kisses you on the head. "Indeed you have."


	12. Getting to Know You

YAAAASSSS I UPDATED BEFORE BEING REMINDED GO ME! So here's some hobbity goodness before we get back to Erebor. The next few chapters will be interrelated and full of cultural exchange! Yay cultural exchange!

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

As planned, you and Thorin stop at Bag End before completing the journey home. Bilbo receives you merrily, which is an amusing contrast to his demeanor when the two of you arrived at his door for the first time. The first thing you notice upon entering the hole is the mouthwatering smell of pumpkin pie.

"I made it just this afternoon," Bilbo says, grabbing plates. "Autumn hardly wants to leave this year! I wouldn't know it was supposed to be winter if I hadn't come to your new year's celebration."

You groan upon biting into the still-warm pie. It's the perfect texture and consistency. "You could be a baker, Bilbo," you sigh, shoving in another forkful. "You'd have the whole Shire bent to your whims at the promise of pie."

"I should hope it's good," he responds. "I haven't done much else lately. Baking and gardening, and long walks and reading. Exactly the proper activities for a respectable hobbit."

"Long walks?" Thorin repeats, a grin forming. "You pined for your armchair, and yet you're still out and about?"

"Yes, well, there's a difference between being able to choose the length of your walks and not," Bilbo replies smartly. "It may come as a surprise, but I prefer meandering through Hobbiton to creeping through a webbed forest."

"You do that often, then? Walking through your village?"

"At least once a week, since the weather has held."

"Good. I should like to come along once."

You and Bilbo raise your eyebrows at Thorin. Bilbo asks in surprise, "I would enjoy the company, but why?"

"I've never had the chance to explore these lands, that's all."

"Well. I'd be glad to give you the grand tour."

That's just what the next day holds. After a delicious breakfast, the three of you set out on the well-worn path through the thick green grass. Other hobbit-holes are built into the lush hills, most of them sporting gardens that are still in bloom thanks to the warm start to winter. The trees, however, have begun to change, coloring them ablaze with reds and oranges and yellows. Other Shire folk go about their business, stopping only to throw the three of you an astonished glance and promptly looking away when caught.

"I like hobbits," you say brightly as you go. "They're much more discreet when it comes to staring."

"Of course they are. It's not polite to stare, is it?" Bilbo says. "Though you mustn't blame them; we're quite unused to such visitors."

"Who all comes through here?" Thorin inquires.

"Hardly anyone. Perhaps a Man or two from Bree, or a Ranger, and the odd Dwarf."

"Does anyone even know the Shire exists?"

"I assume so. Why do you ask?"

"If you let travelers come and go as they please, how do you defend against enemies?"

"Enemies!" Bilbo exclaims. "The only enemies we have here are snails in the garden and any particularly nosy neighbors."

"No orcs or goblins? Not even bandits?" Thorin sounds like he can hardly believe such a claim.

"We did have a bit of trouble with goblins an Age ago, and some issues with wolves during the Fell Winter, but other than that, not at all."

"Your king must be a mighty one indeed to keep his lands so secure!"

"We haven't one."

Thorin is astonished by this information. "No king! What on earth _do_ you have in the way of leadership, then?!"

"We have a mayor."

"Well! I knew you were strange, Master Baggins, but only now do I understand that you come by it honestly."

Bilbo accepts the clever jibe with grudging grace.

"Your land is impossible. I can hardly comprehend how it has survived this long with no army and no government."

"We _do_ have an army, commanded by the Thain of Tuckborough in times of need, and we are by all rights under the jurisdiction of Gondor, though they leave us quite alone. But who would want to attack or rule us? What do we have to offer invaders?"

"Delicious food?"

You and Bilbo laugh hard at that. You think it's the first time you've heard Thorin make a plain joke.

"How do you do it?" Thorin continues. "How do you live so simply?"

"How do _you_ live so complexly?" Bilbo returns.

"I'm not sure. I hardly find it complex."

"And I hardly find us simple."

"I did not mean it offensively. I find your land rather...relaxing."

"It's true that the Shire is more peaceful than most, but it's hardly relaxing! If you knew the first thing about hobbits - "

"Teach me, then."

Bilbo blinks up at him. "What?"

"Teach me how to live like a hobbit. You did very well living like a Dwarf on our journey. I should like to put myself in your boots - ah, metaphorically speaking."

Bilbo chuckles. "As you will, Thorin. I'll make a respectable hobbit out of you yet."

You can hardly believe the exchange that took place, despite having been there to witness it. Since when was Thorin Oakenshield, the quintessential Dwarf, interested in other cultures? You pose the question to him that night as the two of you slip into a guest bed.

He shrugs casually. "It is only fair. Bilbo was a beard and boots short of a Dwarf when we took back the Mountain. He's one of the few outsiders that understands our ways - present company excluded, of course. I should return the gesture."

"That's very sweet of you, Thorin," you say approvingly. "I don't think you're going to like it, but - "

Thorin frowns at you. "Why not?"

"It's a lot of work that you're not used to doing."

"I'm used to doing _all_ kinds of work."

"Yeah? When was the last time you planted something?"

"When was the last time _you_ did?"

" _I_ have some idea of what you're getting into. If you think being a hobbit is nothing more than eating seven meals a day and smoking a pipe, you've got another thing coming, my love."

"I've fought a dragon," he says unconcernedly. "Anything else can hardly be so difficult."

You've never been so excited to watch someone eat their words.

Bilbo wakes Thorin (and by extension, you) at half past six in the morning. Thorin is momentarily disoriented; he reaches for his sword as if expecting word of an attack.

"No need for that," Bilbo says brightly. "I'm just here to get you up for breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Thorin blinks up at him blearily. "So early?"

"We must first cook the breakfast to eat it, Thorin. Are you ready for your first lesson in hobbitdom?"

Thorin grumbles and throws back the covers. It's early, but there's no way you're going to miss Thorin attempting to cook.

Bilbo begins his culinary lesson with eggs. He demonstrates how to crack an egg into the frying pan. Thorin's first try does not even dent the fragile white shell. His second one causes the egg to explode.

You sink into a chair, laughing. "Have you never cooked in your life?" you ask.

Thorin shoots you a disgruntled look. "I've never had occasion to," he says darkly.

"What? Never? In your entire life?" You can't work out how that's possible.

"When would I have?"

"It's physically impossible that you have _never_ made food for yourself, Thorin."

"Nothing that ever required _this_ nonsense." He smashes a fourth egg with just enough force to land the yolk in the pan and seems vaguely pleased with himself. "I've only worked with fire directly or without it at all."

"Well, I have faith in you," Bilbo says, throwing the eggshells out the open window into the garden. "Perhaps eggs are not your forte, but I'm sure you can cook bacon."

The spread of scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, muffins, and apples is humble for a hobbit meal, but Bilbo is kind enough not to overwork Thorin. Everything is on the crispy end of done, but it is edible, and you are proud of Thorin.

"I like my bacon like this," you say brightly, crunching on a slightly charred slice.

"You're too kind," Thorin says flatly.

"I'm serious. It's very good for your first try, dear."

"At least we'll only have to do this two more times today."

"Six," Bilbo corrects. "Hobbits eat seven meals a day."

"Seven meals!" Thorin yelps. "How do you get anything else done, spending all day cooking!"

"Because it doesn't take us half as long to cook," says the other slyly. "There's no shame in accepting your natural limitations. Not everyone can be as versatile as hobbits."

"Oh, you think you're quite clever! Did I say I was done trying to learn?"

Bilbo chuckles and helps himself to another muffin. "Fair enough. There was a time when the stubbornness of Dwarves was tiresome. Now I believe it shall prove quite amusing."

The day is not an easy one for Thorin. Bilbo guides him through the preparation of six more meals of varying difficulty. In the between times, the three of you harvest the remnants of the garden, do laundry, tidy up the house, and perform other mundane chores the likes of which are foreign to Thorin. Through it all, he does not complain once. Indeed, he hardly speaks the entire day.

After supper that evening, the three of you sit under the large oak tree atop the house to enjoy the sunset and twilight. Bilbo and Thorin have their pipes, and you munch on a crisp red apple despite hardly having any room left in your stomach.

Bilbo comments, "You've been a terribly good sport today, Thorin. I'm rather impressed."

Thorin fights to hide his smile. "Indeed?"

"Yes. I know you're capable of great things, but sometimes it's the small tasks that give one the most trouble. But it seems you are the master of jobs great and small."

Thorin laughs. "You are too quick to praise. You could hardly eat what I had a large part in making."

"That's not it at all - "

"It is no accusation. _I_ could hardly eat what I had a large part in making."

"It takes quite a bit of practice to become an accomplished cook. Hobbits are raised doing it, so we begin that practice very young. Really, though, save for the towel catching fire, I'd say the domestic chapter of hobbitdom has been successfully completed. Therefore, tomorrow begins the social chapter."

As you and Thorin ready for bed that night, you tell him, "I really did like the bacon, though."

Thorin flops back on the bed, exhausted. "I never thought such a simple thing would be so troublesome. I have a great newfound respect for anyone who can make something edible of whatever number of ingredients."

You curl up beside him. "I just don't understand how you could have gone so long without really making anything."

"Well, in the beginning, all of our meals were made for us, like they are now. After the exile, Frerin and I lived with Dis and Vili and the boys. Dis cooked most of the time, but Vili and Frerin could muster a decent stew. I just...never had the occasion."

"I cannot believe your sister fed you for the majority of your life."

Thorin elects to ignore this jab. Instead he asks, "And what of you? Can you cook like a hobbit?"

"Maybe not like a hobbit, but well enough to get along."

"I see. It appears I have some catching up to do."

The next phase of Thorin's induction into hobbit-hood begins the next morning. Bilbo is so kind as to fix breakfast himself - Thorin looks very grateful - and then the three of you set out for a walking tour of the majority of the Shire. You're looking forward to it; you've only ever been through Hobbiton. Bilbo greets his many friends and neighbors, and they return the courtesy. They often inquire about you and Thorin, out of either politeness or genuine curiosity, and Bilbo answers truthfully, much to the other's surprise.

"I get the impression," Thorin comments after the majority of the niceties have passed, "that you don't quite like some of the people we saw."

"You are quite correct," Bilbo says with a huff. "There are some of my extended family that I can't stand, but hobbits are rarely outright impolite, even to people we dislike."

You laugh at Thorin's surprised expression. "Quite a notion, isn't it, honey?" you giggle.

"I don't understand why you'd waste time being nice to someone you don't like," Thorin says. "It would give them the wrong idea. It's almost like lying."

"It's _manners_ ," Bilbo corrects. "But it's hobbit manners; I've been around Dwarves long enough to know that your manners aren't exactly lacking, just different."

The day's path winds through Tuckborough and along the Brandywine River, looping around back through rolling, grassy hills to the Green Dragon Inn. It is there that Thorin's socializing lessons are put to the test.

"Go order us drinks and dinner," Bilbo says shooing him towards the bar. "And be polite!"

"D'you know who you're talking to?" you say in an undertone, and the two of you snicker. But Thorin can be awfully charismatic when the mood strikes him, and the maid behind the bar is very pink-cheeked as she hands over three frothy mugs.

"I knew you had it in you," Bilbo congratulates, taking a mug.

Thorin smiles, humored. "Did you really?"

"I figured you must, being a king."

"Diplomacy is not my job, according to my lovely wife."

"That's because you have no concept of it," you say.

Thorin shrugs because he cannot deny it.

You continue to Bilbo, "Do you know, he was completely on board with killing the heads of each of the Dwarf families when we were at the meeting."

Bilbo blinks. "Goodness, Thorin."

"Only if they were to start a fight with Aniel. And none of them did, so none of them died."

"I am very glad to be your friend and not your enemy."

"And as your friend, Bilbo Baggins, I say this: your lands are enchanting, and if they ever need protecting, you need only ask."

Bilbo raises his eyebrows. "Pardon?"

"There is a tranquility here that I have found nowhere else, not even in my own home. Your people are different from all who walk this earth, and are perhaps the better for it. The passing of your way of life would be a deep sorrow, so I would do all I can to prevent it. Anyone who threatens hobbits henceforth threatens Dwarves as well."

"Gracious, Thorin, that's quite a pronouncement! I can only accept your pledge with the deepest thanks on behalf of all my kin. I'm afraid I can't offer anything so grand in return - "

Thorin waves that away with a smile. "Simply cook for us whenever you come to visit, and I would call it a fair trade."


	13. Cultural Exchange, Part 1 - Sports

AHHH I'M SORRY I'VE BEEN WORKING ON ORIGINAL STUFF BUT NOW I'M WATCHING GAME OF THRONES AND I'M INTO KINGS AND KINGDOMS AGAIN

also _kunzek-abod_ means _stone strike_ in Khuzdul, it's sort of like rugby but with less padding bc Dwarves are hardcore.

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

* * *

Stumbling upon Fili and Kili patching each other up is your introduction to Dwarvish sports, and in retrospect, you can't say you're surprised.

"What _happened_ to you two?" you gasp, blinking at the slightly bloody rags lying about.

The boys wince. "Er...afternoon, Auntie," Kili says extremely guiltily.

You're at their side in an instant. "Did you two get in a fight? Who did you fight? Did you win? And who the _hell_ would hit the princes?"

"It's not like that!" Fili exclaims. "Just relax a moment and let us explain."

"You'd _better_ explain!"

"We didn't get in a fight. We were playing _kunzek-abod_."

"I...have no idea what that is."

"It's a sport," Kili explains. "Dwarves used to play it frequently, but I guess the professional teams never got back together after we reclaimed Erebor. We've been playing with some other lads."

"A sport," you repeat, interested. "I didn't know Dwarves _had_ sports. That sounds fun. Can I play?"

They exchange glances. "It may not be the game for you," Fili says slowly.

You cross your arms. "And why is that?"

"Tell you what: we've got another game set up for tomorrow. Come with us and watch a round, and see if you want to play then."

"Fair enough." You nod, then pause. "Hang on - this game, it is legal, right? Because it's one thing for you two to break the law, but for _me_ to do it - "

"It's completely legal," Fili assures you. "You're just not really supposed to play it without an arena or the proper gear, neither of which we have. You'll see why later."

You're very excited to experience this part of Dwarven culture that you previously had no idea existed. You wonder how popular the game had been before. Kili had mentioned professional teams; did people get paid to play _kunzek-abod_ like humans did football? How did the two compare? More importantly, did Thorin ever play?

You're bursting with anticipation as you follow the boys down into the living districts of the Mountain. Your destination is the stone city equivalent of a vacant lot. There are others gathered there about Fili and Kili's age. All of them are shocked to see you.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to shut you down," you say pleasantly, seeing some uneasy expressions. "I'm here to watch! I've never seen _kunzek-abod_ before, so give me a good game, yeah?"

They cheer and make their preparations. You get comfortable and prepare to learn.

As far as you can tell from the fast action and dreadful hits, _kunzek-abod_ is a sort of rugby without any rules. There are two teams that try to get the ball, which is about the size of a cannonball, to their goal. The rest is tackles and body checks and headbutts that make you wince. It's no wonder the boys needed a first aid session after playing!

Fili's team wins. The game disbands, everyone much worse for the wear but beaming nonetheless. The boys strut back over to you, looking proud despite Kili's bloody nose and Fili's blooming black eye.

"That was _brutal_ ," you say, dabbing at Kili's face. "I can't believe you play that for fun!"

"But it _is_ fun!" Kili replies brightly.

"Well, in any case, you were right about me not wanting to play. They're run me over!"

"It's a bit less painful with proper equipment," Fili says, "but somehow also less fun."

"How many people play this regularly?"

"Oh, loads. These are just the lads we usually play with."

"So if we were to build a real stadium and get proper equipment, it wouldn't go to waste?"

The boys blink at you. "Are you saying...?" Kili asks slowly.

"I'll talk to Thorin about it. Sports are very important, especially for kids."

They look like Christmas has come early. They run off to tell their friends of your proposal. Satisfied with the positive response, you think of how best to bring it up. You've never exactly asked for something so big as an entirely new - building? Room? Excavation? What did it count as? - but you're sure space will not be an issue.

In an entirely unforeseen turn of events, putting the question to Thorin is easier than expected. That night, as the two of you ready for bed, you begin casually, "I spent the afternoon with the boys today."

"Oh?" Thorin looks up from his papers with a raised eyebrow and smile. "You kept out of trouble, I hope."

"Yes, actually. They introduced me to _kunzek-abod_."

Thorin completely turns in his chair, his expression alight with a sort of excitement you've never witnessed. "They've been playing?" he asks eagerly. "So that's why they've been worse for the wear lately! I didn't know there were any new teams."

"Hang on," you say slowly, "Thorin...do you like that game?"

"Like! It was my entire childhood! When I was not attending to duties or misadventures, Dwalin and Frerin and I played on a team. It wasn't professional, of course, but we were no novices. Frerin would run the stone - he was smaller and faster than us - and Dwalin and I would block for him. We came home black and blue more than once. I have not thought of those games in a long time."

You're enthralled by his response. "I cannot believe," you say, fingers over your mouth, "that you are into sports."

"And why not?"

"You've never mentioned it before! Between this and finding out you like the theatre, I feel like I hardly know you!"

"Oh, you know me well. Those are just small things - "

"You looked like a little kid when you were talking about it!"

"I _felt_ like a child talking about. But why do you ask about it?"

"I told the boys that since they were enjoying it so much, I'd ask you if we could build a stadium for them to practice in."

"A stadium!" Thorin's face lights up. "Yes, excellent! There is one, actually, or there should be - we had one before, but I don't know if they repurposed it or not. But you needn't have asked, love. You are queen, remember. You can do as you please."

"But I'm glad I asked!" You plop into his lap. "I would have never known about your glorious career as a semi-professional _kunzek-abod_ player otherwise. Tell me all about it."

The two of you talk late into the night. Listening to Thorin relive his younger days is as much of an experience as watching him. You've never seen him so animated. You're very glad you brought it up; the memories are clearly good ones for him. You imagine a younger Thorin, hair blacker and demeanor softer; a younger Dwalin, with more hair but just as tough; and Frerin, his face unfortunately a blur, all of them laughing and tackling each other.

"Did you ever play any sports?"

"Huh?" You'd been lost in imagining. "Sports? Yeah, I played a few, but none quite as harsh as yours."

"What were they?"

"Er, well...there was baseball..."

"I've not heard of it."

"No, I wouldn't think so."

"What else?"

"We had football, which is kind of like _kunzek-abod_ , and hockey. You'd like hockey. It gets pretty brutal."

"I'm intrigued. I never took Elves to be the sporting type."

"Most of them aren't. It was just...er...well, most of them aren't."

"Would you teach me?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Teach you those sports?"

"Of course. In fact, you could teach them to the children as well. Make a day of it like you did the flower crowns."

"I...yes, I will, if you want me to."

And that is how you find yourself standing in the field, the entire juvenile population of Erebor plus Fili and Kili and Thorin staring expectantly at you.

"Alright, well..." You drop the bag of equipment at your feet. You take out a small ball and one of the bats you lathed yourself. "I'll explain baseball first."

You go over baseball, hockey, and soccer in the easiest but most thorough way possible. You're sure that any professional player would cry at your oversimplification of the sports. Despite your manner of telling, or perhaps because of it, the children are eager to give these games a try. So you set them up with the equipment as well as you can and make your rounds to answer questions, settle disputes, and give reminders of rules.

Thorin stands on the fringe of things, watching. You move to stand by him. He comments, "Elves play such strange games."

"Not all Elves play these games. And not all games have to involve physical contact."

"All the fun ones do."

You look at him in mock outrage, and he chuckles endearingly. "So none of these look fun to you?" you ask.

"The one with the kicking ball does. It would be a challenge. What was it? So-kar?"

"Soccer," you correct. "Yeah, that one seems to be pretty popular. You should go play."

"Perhaps you can teach it to the lads and we'll have a private game. I'd prefer to make a fool of myself in front of friends, not children."

You laugh at the mental image of the company trying to kick a ball around. "That sounds magnificent."

Kili comes to retrieve a foul ball that has rolled in nearby. "This is excellent, Aniel!" he says brightly. "This baseball, I like it!"

"Then we can add a few baseball diamonds to the _kunzek-abod_ stadium we're building," you say.

"A stadium? Really?" Kili looks between you and Thorin, ecstatic. " _Yes_! I can't wait! Fili, they're going to build the stadium!"

He dashes off to relay the news. His shouts are soon lost amongst the screams and laughter of the children. You're very glad you had the chance to discover this new facet of Dwarf culture, and you can't wait to see what else you uncover.


	14. Diplomacy Quest

HAPPY MCFREAKIN' NEW YEAR! I'm really sorry for the long gap. A lot happened for me in the past few months, not limited to getting a new real adult job. You all have the wonderful and fabulous Hristonostore Onnediel to thank for reminding me to get my buns in gear. I am still working and am in the process of moving, but hopefully I'll be able to pick this back up on a regular basis. Holla holla for this being almost 8k words.

RE the chapter: give it up for totally bs'ing where other Dwarves live! Woo!

Hobbit (c) Tolkien

oOo

Once the _kunzek-abod_ stadium is completed and several teams are mustered, you and Thorin go to the inaugural game. You're glad to see that the professional teams are slightly more padded than Fili and Kili's casual teams had been, but when the action starts, it hardly matters.

The game is brutal. Bodies clash against each other like wargs fighting over meat. It seems like anything short of straight up decking an opponent is permissible. You're wincing and cringing every few seconds, but Thorin is cheering and laughing. You're glad he's having a good time, and it's amusing to see him so unrestrained. Perhaps you just need to get used to the sport, but _goodness_.

Thorin's eyes are still aglow when the two of you retire for the evening. "I'm glad you had fun," you say with a smile. "I don't think I've ever seen you that excited."

He shrugs, but he's grinning too widely to deny it. "I'd forgotten what an exhilarating game it is. Me and the lads will have to have a round sometime."

"You're going to get your gorgeous face beat in!"

"I daresay I'll be the one doing the beating. Recall that I used to play when I was younger."

You don't protest further. He looks so thrilled at the prospect that you can't bring yourself to nag him about being careful. Anyway, he's been mauled by a warg and almost killed and heaven knows what else in his life. A bit more rough housing surely wouldn't hurt him too much.

As is custom, you get ready for bed while Thorin goes through the pile of papers on his desk. You consider picking up one of the books stack on your side table when a "Hmm…" arises from the desk.

"Hmm?" you respond in kind.

"There's a letter here for you." Thorin holds up a folded bit of parchment sealed with blue wax.

"Cool!" You don't recall ever having gotten a letter before. You cross the room and take it. "Who's it from?"

"The seal is from the Broadbeam clan."

You blink. "Broadbeam? Why would Balas be writing to _me_?"

"You did make quite an impression at the meeting. Perhaps there's a matter he'd like your opinion on."

You smile at that possibility. You slide your finger under the seal. The letter is short; Balas's handwriting is long and skinny and neat.

 _To Her Majesty of Erebor, Queen Under the Mountain,_

 _I am writing to ask your help on an urgent matter._

"Ha, you were right!" you laugh.

"You are very good at problem solving," Thorin says, "and now everyone knows it."

 _There have been escalating issues between the Dwarves in my lands and the Men they trade with. Cultural discrepancies have always caused a few quarrels, but this matter is different. There have been serious accusations leveled on both sides. I fear that the bad blood will soon result in violence._

 _You displayed your skill in diplomacy, negotiation, and creative solutions at the meeting earlier this year. I ask you - nay, beg you - to come Gund Gladden to hear the grievances in person and decide on the best course of action. I believe that I have reached the extent of my diplomatic abilities short of banning all trade with Men, which would be quite a blow to our economy. I deeply apologize for the short notice for travel; luckily, it should only be a five-day journey. Regardless, I would not ask you to make it had I any options left._

 _Please respond at your earliest convenience. I hope to see you soon._

 _Your humble servant,_

 _Balas son of Bohar_

You are no longer smiling by the end of the letter, prompting Thorin to inquire, "Is it ill news?"

"That's a word for it," you mutter, rereading the letter again. "It says that Dwarves and Men are about to come to blows over some bad trades."

"Unsurprising," Thorin mused. "Trade relations between Dwarves and Men have always been, shall we say, _volatile_ , though most issues resolve themselves. But if Balas is requesting your presence, it must be serious."

You almost ask if he thinks you should go, but you bite your tongue at the last second. Thorin is always telling you that you have the power to _do_ things, to make things happen without having to ask permission, and this seems like an excellent time to grab that power by the reins.

"I'm going," you state. "It won't do to have another war start when we've just ended one. I'll go and sort it out."

Thorin's brow furrows. "I'm not saying it's not a good idea…" he begins.

"I sense a _but_ coming."

"But it's a long trip, and dangerous for you to go alone. I doubt that concerns you, but I must mention it, for my own peace of mind."

"No, it doesn't concern me, but thank you." You kiss him on the head and go about stuffing some clothes into a pack. "I'll leave in the morning."

"That's abrupt."

"I did get a vague sense of urgency from the wording. Would you mind writing a return letter while I pack?"

"You know, even I would take at least two others on such a long trip," he says, turning back to the desk.

You look over your shoulder, a bit surprised. "Really? You wouldn't go at it alone?"

"I wouldn't, no."

"Huh. Well. I'll keep that in mind for my next long trip. Maybe if I had more time to plan this time, I'd take Dis and Tauriel. Yeah…" You grin to yourself, imagining. "Yeah, that would be great."

"I would lose no sleep to worry if they were your companions," Thorin chuckles.

"Excellent. Can't wait for the next adventure."

Thorin composes a short letter telling of your immediate departure and, after you approve it, goes to find a raven to deliver it. In the meantime, you descend to the treasure room. The sight still awes you - the amount of gold is simply incalculable and immeasurable. The glittering ocean lies meters deep and stretches on for miles. You scoop up one small chest and return to your room.

"What's that for?" Thorin inquires when to set the chest beside your pack.

"Bribery," you say lightly. "If I can't convince them to get along with words, I'll convince them to get along with gold."

"That's a solid plan, but I doubt you'll need it. I'm sure you'll have them drinking merrily together by evening."

"Your confidence is encouraging."

The two of you get in the bed. You roll over to see Thorin looking slightly put out. You scoot over and snuggle into him. "Why the face?"

"I think you know why."

You laugh at his grumpy tone. "I'll be back before you know it. I promise."

"I don't think you would appreciate it if I made such a habit of going adventuring."

"No, you're right, I wouldn't. I'd be asking to come with you. Actually…" You consider it. "I reckon you could come with me tomorrow if you wanted to."

"Trust me, it is a _very_ tempting offer," he murmurs. "But I suppose this is a reality of ruling. We are sometimes needed in many places at once. There is no one, not even myself, who I would rather have going to deal with this matter."

You giggle. "Aww, that's so sweet!"

"May I ask you something? I believe I know the answer, but I'm curious."

"Fire away."

"You miss the journeying, don't you? The adventure of it. You enjoyed it."

You're taken aback by the question. You ponder it. "I guess so," you reply thoughtfully. "Some aspects, at least. I liked the camaraderie and the spirit of it. But I definitely don't miss sleeping in inclement weather and not having access to warm baths."

"That's what I thought." Thorin smiles. "I admire that in you. It's no surprise to me that your heart is too big to stay in one place. As long as you always come home, I don't mind it."

"There's no question of that, Thorin. I'll always come home to you."

oOo

You rise bright and early to get a head start on your trip. As a stable hand is loading your things onto a horse, Thorin goes over a map with you. You're a little daunted by the prospect of using a paper map - it costs you nothing to wish for a GPS - but you won't tell him that. You simply listen as closely as possible to his explanation of the fastest route.

"Great," you say, folding up the map. "This should be fun!"

Thorin shakes his head and smiles. "You are the only person I have known from a family of leaders who finds royal duties any measure of fun."

"That's because I'm not used to it yet!" you say brightly. "Now give me a kiss for luck."

"I'll give you several," he he purrs before pulling you close. You very much hope that the stable hand is still focused on loading the horse.

It's hard to pull away, but you manage. You give Thorin one last kiss and mount the horse. Your stomach jumps excitedly as the breeze picks up, bringing with it the promise of adventure. You urge the horse to chase that wind. It goes at a gallop, leaving the Mountain in its wake.

You ride until sundown, which feels shorter than you're used to. Indeed, winter is coming, and the days are growing shorter. The weather is also turning cold. You hope very much as you build a huge fire that you'll be there and back before the first snow.

You have dinner and examine your map. Thorin marked the quickest route to Broadbeam lands. You never knew that there was a Dwarf settlement in the mountains between the River Gladden and Moria, especially since it's so (relatively) close. The little black ink line follows the Forest Road through Mirkwood - you're not thrilled about going back in there - and down the Anduin. If the weather holds and you don't run into any nonsense in Mirkwood, it should be an easy, if lengthy trip.

You're missing the comforts of home in no time. It's not snowing, but it's certainly not the warm air of picnic weather whipping through your hair as you ride. You withstand the chill nights by setting up small infernos and using your horse as a space heater. Still, it would be a much more pleasant trip if you had companions.

Heading into Mirkwood gives you some apprehension. It would be horrific bordering lethal if you stumbled across a nest of spiders while all alone. The largely bare trees reach towards the sky like twisted skeletal hands, and though this extends your range of vision, they're creepy enough on their own. You stay sharp and ride fast, not wanting to spend more time in the forest than completely necessary. Your vigilance pays off: you reach the other side of the woods without incident after only two days and a night.

Now that it's only a matter of following the Anduin, you begin to ponder what you'll say to defuse the situation once you arrive. You wish Balas had been a bit more specific when mentioning the grievances and accusations. Was it a dispute of ownership? A payment issue? And how did the matter come to be so bad that the parties were about to come to blows over it? You know better than anyone that Dwarves are stubborn and quick to anger, but they are also quick to forgive when asked for it. You'll try very hard not to be partisan, but you have a feeling that the root cause is not solely the fault of the Dwarves.

Either way, you hope you brought enough gold to bribe both parties to peace if diplomacy fails.

You stop to make camp just inside the treeline. There's plenty of dry wood around to kindle a satisfactory fire. You curl up next to your horse after dinner. The constant rush of the Anduin lulls you to sleep and continues to interject in whispers and murmurs in your dreams. The fire goes through a series of loud cracks and hisses that half-wakes you.

Cold fully rouses you. You make a face, your eyes still closed, and grope around for your equine heating pad. Your fingers miss hair and mass. Had the horse wandered off to graze? You grudgingly open your eyes to see a young sunrise and an empty camp.

You blink. You rub your eyes, blink again, and turn in a full circle. The horse is gone. Your weapons are gone. Your pack, containing your clothes, food, and tiara, and map, is gone. _The chest of gold is gone_. The only things left are your fire, your blanket, and your daggers, because you slept with the latter close to your chest.

You whisper a wondrous, furious curse. Where had it all gone?! You're too far south for it to be Elves playing tricks. Orcs or Goblins wouldn't have spared your life. It had to be Men. But you hadn't passed any villages, so where - ?

"Bandits," you realize aloud. "Son of a bitch. I've been robbed!"

You've been robbed, and they took _everything._ You pace irately in circles around the dying flickers of the fire. They took _everything_ , and you didn't hear it? Or _did_ you? Perhaps the murmuring of the river and the hissing of the fire had not been natural noises, as you previously assumed. That means you slept right through the robbery. You're not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

You stop pacing to take stock of the situation. You have no food, no change of clothes, no bribe gold, and no map. You're alone in completely unfamiliar territory. Your transportation-slash-heat source is gone, possibly spooked away but also possibly stolen. You kind of want to punch something, but you refrain, because that's not productive.

You remember enough of the map to know that if you keep following the river south, you'll eventually reach the point where the Celebrant empties into the Anduin. You could follow the Celebrant up into Lorien and beg for supplies, provided you haven't starved or frozen by then. Surely Lady Galadriel would take pity on you. Then you could continue to Gund Gladden and mediate peace.

You could do that, but you're not going to do that. The thieves took your pack. Your tiara was in that pack. That tiara was your wedding gift from Thorin. The mere thought of dirty fingers smudging the gems and silver work sets you aflame. Yes, you're going after your things, and you're going to kick an incredible amount of ass when you get there.

You get to work searching the campsite for clues. You are far from a sleuth, but for once luck is on your side: the bandits' heavy boots left deep imprints in the clearing. Not having to pack up, you follow the prints down to the shore, where they pick up mud and track in into the forest. Just when you're afraid the mud will run out and you'll lose the trail, you realize you're following a path just worn enough to be distinguishable from the rest of the terrain. You take to the path like a dog to the scent.

The trail leads through the small woods and across plains. From time to time you catch another fresh-looking footprint that lets you know you're headed in the right direction. The hunt takes the majority of the afternoon. This gives you plenty of time to think up creative ways to beat the crap out of multiple grown men.

Finally, just as the sun is sinking in the east, you see a cluster of shacks through the bare trees. The trail at your feet leads right to them. Triumph surges through you and warms your limbs. This ridiculous distraction is almost over.

You slowly creep ever closer until you're right at the window of one of the shanties. You can hear footsteps and low voices inside. You consider bursting in immediately and whaling on anyone in your path; the lack of finesse in the plan surprises you. Dwarvish tactics are certainly rubbing off on you! You decide to be a little more stealthy, instead waiting until nightfall to make your move.

Night comes quickly, bringing with it cold winds. You pace to keep yourself warm until there are no more noises from inside the shack. You draw your daggers and tiptoe to the door. You try the lock, hoping you won't have to break the door down and give yourself away - yes, it's open! The door groans when you push it open, but the sound is lost in the howls of the wind.

The small cabin is dim, lit only by a crackling fire. Furniture is scarce; there is a table and some chairs and a trunk, but no beds. The men are sleeping on the floor in front of the fire. You grip your daggers when you see their inert silhouettes. Revenge tells you to slaughter them in their sleep, or at least beat them soundly, but your ever-present sense of righteousness stays your hand. Despite stealing all your belongings and leaving you stranded, the bandits hadn't physically harmed you. It mildly offends your pride, but you elect to leave them be.

You light a slender piece of wood in the fireplace to use as a torch to search the place. The men are rather poor bandits: there isn't much loot to sift through. Indeed, your things are in a pile on the table along with the remnants of dinner. The torch glints off the gold in the open chest. Your tiara sits atop the gold. You huff at the idea that they'd touched it.

You repack everything as quietly as possible. You tuck the chest under your arm and turn to leave. You take one step towards the door and stumble over something unseen in the dark. You catch yourself, but there's several somethings - your torch illuminates a row of boots as you stagger into the wall and fall.

It's nothing short of a riotous din in the small, silent shack. The men stir with bemused, half-asleep shouts. You quickly right yourself and whirl around to face them.

"Who is she?"

"She's an Elf!"

"The Elf from the river?"

"Yes, the Elf that you stole all this from!" you snap. "I've come to retake what is rightfully mine! I spared you when you were asleep, and I will spare you again if you let me walk out of here."

The men looked at each other. You do your best to seem imposing and dangerous. One of them asks you, "Where'd you get the crown?"

"The crown is _mine_. My husband made it for me. I'm a queen."

"A queen! Then I reckon you're worth more if we keep you. A queen's ransom would set us for life!"

In retrospect, you probably should have lied. You don't have much time to dwell on this, as the three of them are coming at you. The hard-to-suppress fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, and you, not born and bred a warrior, almost bolt out the door. But you've fought armies of orcs! You are the Troll Master! Three Men are certainly no match for you.

You make rather short work of them. They were armed with makeshift clubs instead of proper swords. You look over their bodies ruefully; though they _had_ threatened to hold you hostage, you take little pleasure in their fate. It was a pointless waste of life. You drag them outside so you don't have to deal with them that night.

There are two more shacks nearby. You suppose you should search them to make sure there are no more thieves that might come looking for their fellows. One is a store house with a little bit of food. The other holds a surprise: your horse. It was pawing nervously in the confined space until you opened the door. You gasp in delight and run to pet it.

While your horse stretches its legs in the clearing, you pick through the store house and bring what you find back to the main shanty. It takes a bit of coaxing, but you get your horse to come inside with you. You don't want to leave it outside, not when it's kept you warm for so long. You feed it several apples and eat your own dinner, contemplating what an odd turn of fate it was that let you sleep under a roof, at least for one night.

That night, you sleep without the need for animal warmth. It's the best sleep you've had since you left home. Something about four walls and a roof (and a door that you remembered to lock) allows you to rest easy.

You're a little stiff when you wake from the night on the floor. You stretch and unlock the door to let your horse out to do its business. The door creaks open, revealing a wall of white. You freeze in horror. _Snow_. It's _snow_ that's piled up taller than you. A narrow strip of light at the top of the pile allows light in, making the packed snow glitter like tiny diamonds.

You flash through several emotions in the span of a few seconds: shock, terror, understanding, realization, more horror, and finally fury. You kick the drift in a rage. It's not as thick as you thought; your foot goes right through it, and you quickly follow. Your skin tingles everywhere the snow touches. You flounder about and finally right yourself.

If it hadn't been a tremendous inconvenience, the untouched purity of the winter scene would have been breathtaking. The bare trees are iced with white. You take a moment to save the mental image for a time when you might enjoy it.

The snow, when not swooshed up in dunes, is ankle deep. Though you're furious at the proceedings, you realize that this is the best possible outcome. Had you not been indoors during the blizzard, you might not ever have woken up.

You return inside. You need to think, to plan, and to dry off and warm up from your unexpected snow bath. You do so over breakfast. You chomp grumpily on crusty bread and weigh your options. Your horse relieves itself in the corner. You roll your eyes.

Breakfast fills your stomach and calms you down, enabling you to make rational decisions. Snow was unplanned for, but it is not an impossible obstacle. You calculate from looking at your map that you can't be far out from Gund Gladden, only about a day and a half or so if you ride hard. And since you doubt you'll be lucky enough to find another bandit's shack to stop in, you're going to have to ride hard _and_ long. Sleeping in the snow would be a death sentence.

You decide to start out the next morning and and go for Gund Gladden or bust. You clean out the store house and pack the rations away. It also occurs to you to take the bandits' furs. Their bodies are buried by a layer of snow and are quite frozen, so it's difficult to strip them, but your desire for warmth triumphs over the laws of nature. You hang up the furs in front of the fire to dry. You spend the rest of the afternoon sewing them all together to make an epic cloak.

You go to bed early that evening, wanting to store up as many hours of sleep as possible to fuel you in the coming days. Your dreams are chilly, even if your body isn't, like your subconscious knows you're about to be an Elf-cicle. Still, you sleep deeply and wake up the next morning fresh-faced and ready.

And when you open the door to start out, you're greeted with another snow drift.

You scream in frustration and punch the drift into submission. The snow has almost tripled in depth overnight: previously at your ankles, it's now almost at your knees. You kick and stomp the frigid white bullshit until you're sweaty and panting.

You storm back inside and ready your things. More snow changes nothing. Nature is not the boss of you. You have a fur cloak so large that it swallows you up. You can still make a go of it. You turn to load your things onto your horse and pause when you meet its soft brown eyes.

 _It_ doesn't have a cloak. _It_ doesn't have anything to wear to protect it from the cold, and it already has to carry you through the snow. Your heart melts. You set your things back on the table.

You engineer your horse a full-body coat out of the remaining clothes on the dead bandits. This time, digging them out and undressing them is a little more difficult. You take every scrap on their body to save you any more trouble. The sleeves of the coats become leg warmers. You lash together the trunks of two of the coats to cover the head and neck in a hat-scarf combo. The last coat covers the horse's rump.

So much sewing eats through the morning and afternoon, but your horse looks very appreciative once you've dressed it up, so you suppose it was worth losing another day. You eat a small dinner in front of the fire. You wonder sarcastically if you're fated to just live here now. But no, you won't stay another night in that shack. You are resolved to leave the next morning even if the snow is to your waist.

In the morning you approach the door with dread. You almost don't want to open it. You feel you might burst into flames of rage if you're greeted with another snow bank. You take a deep breath and yank the door open. This time there is no white wall separating you from the outside, and it seems like no more snow has fallen. You let out the breath in a long sigh of relief.

You load your things and lead your horse out the door. With its new layers, it seems untroubled by the temperature. Heartened, you head out mounted in the exact direction you walked in.

Working the furs into a cloak was nothing short of the best idea you'd ever had in your entire life. The whipping air cruelly bit any exposed skin. You have to squint against the blindingly sparkling snow to see where you're going - you definitely don't want to deviate from the path you came in on now that its presence is covered by snow.

On horseback it takes about half a day to find your way back to the Anduin. You've never been so happy to see a flowing body of water. According to the map, which you now keep tucked safely in your vest, you are now back on track. You just have to keep moving.

Night slowly falls. The temperature drops with the sun. Your resolve keeps you from panicking, at least outright. You've planned for this. You can do this. You've planned for this...but that doesn't make you any more excited to be awake for a solid twenty-four hours.

The full moon plays off the snow, making the night much brighter than it would have been in summer. This aids your search for a crossing. The absolute last thing you want to do is to have to swim across. The mere thought of it makes you shudder. That had hypothermia written all over it. Yet, with the way things have been going, you don't completely rule out the possibility…

Your tired eyes have been straining for hours when you finally notice a difference in the way the water runs. It ripples around snow-kissed rocks for several yards before returning to its smooth current. _Shallows._ You would have cried with relief, but the tears would have frozen to your face. You guide your horse to the bank where the bed is visible through the clear water. The river isn't even deep enough to cover the hooves. You gallop across it, almost afraid that the river will suddenly change its mind and decide to be deep.

Your eyes are so heavy but you pinch yourself every time you start to nod off. You should be in the Gladden area after crossing the river. Gund Gladden can't be far away. Dawn can't be far away. Your eyes are so heavy, and your cloak is so warm. So warm…

Your horse tosses its head and snorts and you jump so hard you almost fall out of the saddle. Your eyes are freezing now, and burning - it's early morning. Your heart thuds as you realize you fell asleep. Possible death aside, you haven't been conscious to steer! Have you gone off course? You look around wildly, but the landscape all looks the same, except for an uneven line on the on the distant horizon. Tiny strips of color seem to float above it.

Your urge your horse into a run. That is a wall if you've ever seen one, and it could be orcs on the other side for all you care, but you are going to go inside and get warm _now_. Your horse seems to share your sentiment, for it runs despite its own exhaustion. The line grows more defined, turning into turrets and ramparts and gates. You haven't been so thrilled to see civilization since the quest for Erebor.

With the gate to Gund Gladden near, you withdraw your tiara from your pack. You may look as rough as you've been living, but you are determined to make a good impression. You also take this opportunity to freeze all of your feelings about how utterly obnoxious this trip has been in favor of defrosting your diplomacy.

A guard in furs receive you at the gate. You're extremely annoyed to note that Gund Gladden only has a fraction of the snow you came out of, but you set it aside. Before the guard can ask, you draw back your hood. Your ears sting in the cold. You say, "I am Aniel of Erebor, and I have come at the request of Lord Balas Broadbeam. The matter is urgent."

"Your Majesty!" The guard bows swiftly. "More urgent than you know, my lady. Ride on down the main road. You'll find Master Balas, I'm sure."

These are _not_ the words you want to be greeted with. You stifle a groan until you're well past the gate. What are you about to ride into? What _aren't_ you about to ride into? Honestly, what could possibly be worse than being snowed in for two days and then freezing your ears off on an all-night ride? What else did fate have to throw at you?

Your questions are answered by a frothing, roaring crowd on the main road. Dwarves and Men are camped opposite each other, both sides oblivious to the cold, both sides shouting and waving weapons. The body language hints that you might be a little late to settle this peacefully. Nevertheless, you seek Balas to get a feel for what you're about to try to negotiate with.

Balas, of course, is right in the thick of things. He is part of a small group halfway between to two camps. This group is, if possible, even more irate and loud than anyone else. Several Dwarves and Men comprise it. Balas seems to be the only one trying to defuse the situation. You gallop up, your horse's hooves clacking on the cobblestone. The noise lessens somewhat as the crowds notice you.

You slide off the horse. You mean for your "What is going on here?!" to come out a little more politely, but you've been awake for far too long and your patience is thin.

"Your Majesty!" Balas exclaims. He jogs towards you. The honorific distracts his small group. All eyes are on you as you stride across the stones.

"We were worried sick!" Balas says in an undertone as the two of you head back towards the middle group. "It should have only taken five days to get here!"

"How long has it been? I lost track."

"It's been nine."

You wince at the number. "And I'm guessing that the four extra days was too much to wait for a resolution?"

"Indeed. They're ready for blood."

"Of course they are. Let's see if we can still salvage the situation."

You approach the group. One of the men asks roughly, "Who's this, then? An Elf?"

"I am Aniel of Erebor, Queen Under the Mountain." The words weigh funny on your tongue, but you've never felt them more than now. "I have come to hear your grievances and offer solutions."

They immediately erupt into accusations. It's quite like the meeting at Ered Luin. You catch claims of cheating and thievery, and stealing and ownership. When you've had enough of the yelling, you say loudly, "Alright! I think I've got the gist of it. Let's go somewhere out of the cold and talk this through, shall we?"

"No more talk!" roared one of the Dwarves. "These Men are scoundrels and thieves! We'll have it out!"

"Aye, we'll have it out!" a Man agreed. "Let's settle this here and now!"

It might be the combination of cold, lack of sleep, and general irritation over the events of the trip, but you snap. "Fine!" you shout. "You want to fight? We'll fight!"

You throw off your cloak and draw your sword. "I will champion for the Dwarves. You Men will choose your own champion and meet me back here at midday. The winner of the fight will be the winner of the feud, and the other side will say no more about it!"

The group is taken aback by your ferocity. The Men nod in agreement and depart. The Dwarves stare at you with a mix of awe and consideration.

You turn to Balas. "Can we go inside? I need a drink and a nap."

Balas hurries you to the nearest tavern. You allow your horse to be taken at the door for the feeding and rest it deserves. You order the biggest item on the menu and take it up to a room. Balas waits for the door to close before shouting, "Please forgive my tone, but _what in Durin's name happened_?!"

"A lot of things have happened recently, Balas," You reply through a mouthful of cheese and buttered bread. "You'll have to be more specific."

"You cannot be allowed to duel. Thorin would have my head if anything happened to you. We will find another champion."

"I _will_ be the champion. Honestly, I could use the outlet after the week I've had."

"Which reminds me - what on earth kept you? Did you lose your way?"

You regale Balas with the tale of your side quest. He is awed by the end. "So basically I've learned my lesson both about traveling alone and traveling during winter," you sum, biting into an apple.

"I am grateful beyond words that you pressed on despite the weather. You saw the rabble out there. There would have been bloodshed had you not intervened. There still will be, apparently, but not on such a scale."

"I'll be honest with you, Balas, since you've always been so open with me. I _really_ didn't want to ride in the snow. Before I decided to go after my stuff, I considered going to Lothlorien to resupply. But I couldn't do that, because it would mean abandoning my duty. These Dwarves here are my people, even if they don't live in Erebor. That is why I worked through the snow, and that is why I volunteered to fight. Thorin told me once that the monarch are considered the parents of their people. This is my chance to show that I agree."

"My lady." Balas bows low. "We could not wish for a better queen."

"Oh, thank you!" Your cheeks heat up slightly at the compliment. "I am trying. Presently, I'm trying not to fall asleep. Would you excuse me? It would be unfortunate if I fell asleep in the middle of the fight."

You nap in the bed for a few blessed hours. Balas comes to fetch you just before midday. Despite the cold, the crowd has not dispersed since you arrived; indeed, it has probably grown. The chilly air makes you feel awake and alive instead of cold and miserable. You crack your knuckles in anticipation.

The champion for the Men splits the crowd. He is a tall, sturdy-looking man, possibly a blacksmith if his build is any indication. You barely stop yourself from making a face. You should have known this wouldn't be easy.

No one seems inclined to any manner of introduction or foreword. You approach your opponent. He's at least a head taller than you. He draws his sword and you draw yours. The gathering is deathly silent as the two of you circle each other. The proceedings remind you of another snowy confrontation you were present for.

The first blow you parry makes your knees buckle. Your opponent swings his sword like a troll would swing a log. He's not as light on his feet as you, are, though, so you dance around him, looking for an opening to disarm. You don't really want to kill him if you can help it. You feel it would send the wrong message. You're not sure if he feels the same way.

Sword clashes on sword with sounds that should accompany a great storm. You have to give the guy credit: he has stamina. The strength of his blows does not wane. He blocks one of your swings and sends your sword flying. The crowd breaks into murmurs and gasps, but you grab your axe without missing a beat. Perhaps a two-handed weapon would give you an edge.

Though you learned fighting on a sword, you find something special about axes, yours in particular. It was a wedding gift from Dwalin, forged in traditional Dwarvish manner. You've learned to exploit the angles of the weapon in both offensive and defensive capacities. It is with your axe that you at last manage to disarm your opponent: you catch a downward swing between the two hooks and quickly twist the sword out of his hands. He seems surprised for a split second before you introduce the head of the axe to his nose.

He stumbles back, blood pouring from his nose. You kick him down and put the axe to his neck. He freezes, looking scared but resigned to his fate. You gaze at him for a moment before stepping away.

"I choose to show mercy," you announce. Your voice echoes strongly across the silent courtyard. "I claim victory, but I will not kill my opponent. He fought bravely.

"As we agreed, the feud is over. But the root of the problem, misunderstanding, still needs to be addressed. To the Men I say this: Dwarves believe that the creator is the true owner of an artifact, and the buyer is merely renting it. To the Dwarves I say this: Men believe that they are paying for ownership. Both of you need to realize this and consider it in any further business deals so you can live in harmony.

"Additionally, I offer this gift of goodwill: each party who believes it was slighted will receive an equal share of the gold I brought. I hope it will clear up any bad blood and let everyone start anew."

You put away your axe and pick up your sword. You turn to walk away, but one more thing occurs to you. You face the Men at large. "Though I came as a friend and diplomat, do not forget that I am of the Dwarves. If intervention is required again, it will be my husband, the King Under the Mountain, who responds, and he is infinitely less diplomatic and merciful than I am. Just something to think about."

The Dwarves are screaming your praises as you head back to the tavern. They bow as you pass and jump up and down while cheering. You can't help but grin widely. The last time you had a one-on-one throwdown, there were a lot fewer people to celebrate your triumph. You're definitely digging all the celebration.

"What a _match_!" Balas shouts in delight as he leads you back inside. "And you won!"

"What, did you think I wouldn't?" you laugh.

"I didn't think you _wouldn't_ , but…"

"That's alright. I may not look like much, but I've ridden a troll before. I'm hardcore."

"Well, it's not what I asked, but you more than delivered. I am deeply in your debt, my lady."

"I'm glad I could help! It would have been easier to just talk it out, but whatever gets the job done."

That night, after a party packs the tavern you're staying in, you write to Thorin to tell him simply that you were successful and will be returning soon. You want to save all the details to tell him in person. Though you'd like to stay a while (and maybe bask in your well-earned glory), you know that your previous battle with the snow only stands to grow more dire if you linger.

To show his gratitude, Balas gifts you with a nice tent and a cot so you don't freeze to death. He invites you to return in better weather, and you intend to take him up on that offer. When you depart, you're shocked to see Dwarves lining the street. They throw flowers and cheer and bow as you pass on your horse. This evokes a different feeling than the aftermath of your victory. You feel proud, but not necessarily in a vain way. It's a pride that you lived up to the expectations and responsibilities placed on you as queen, that perhaps you are cut out for this life after all. It makes you sit up a little straighter in the saddle.

The journey home is blessedly free of incident. You and your horse sleep in the tent every night. You finally find yourself looking upon the Mountain five days later. You couldn't be happier to be home, not least of all because of fire and hot baths.

The gate guard announces your return, as they are wont to do. An attendant takes your horse, leaving you to make your own entrance. Thorin meets you on your way to the throne room. His smile takes on a curious tilt as he takes in your new wear.

"You...didn't leave with that," he says slowly.

"Nope!" you say brightly.

"Where did you get it?"

"I made it."

"I see." He gazes at you a moment, then continues, "Are you going to make me ask, or will you just tell me?"

"I've been _dying_ to tell you."

You walk with him and tell him all about your adventure. He listens mostly impassively, occasionally smiling or frowning as the story progresses. You finish grandly, "And that is the story of how I'm never going to travel alone again and how I'm _never ever_ traveling in winter again. What do you think?"

"I think that you are a wonder."

You laugh. "Was the story that good?"

"The fact that it's true makes it better."

"Really? I thought you'd be upset with me for doing dangerous stuff."

Thorin sighs in the tone that he uses when he's about to admit to being wrong. You listen eagerly. He says, "I always worry about you on principle, but it has occurred to me that I need to give you more credit. You are capable, resourceful, and brilliant, and your recent trials prove that. So yes, I will always disapprove of anything that puts you in any danger, but overall I am proud of you, and impressed."

That was not what you were expecting. Your face heats up at the compliments. "You're...impressed?"

"Very."

"I think I've always wanted to hear you say that. I've been trying to impress you since we met."

Thorin takes you hands. "You've always impressed me, love, in a thousand different ways. Perhaps I should say it more often."

You blush harder. Unable to come up with something to say, you jump into his arms. "I'm glad I'm home," you murmur. "It was cold without you."

"I'm glad you're home, too. Now we'll both be warm."


	15. Cultural Exchange, Part 2 - Song

There's still a few cute and fuzzy chapters before we go into crisis mode again! Hopefully I'll have a new computer before then; I had to write this chapter on my work computer like a damn caveman. It was like taking blood from a stone, let me tell you. I'm usually great at retooling songs, but JESUS, this one was borderline impossible! I still like how it came out, though, even if it might not be everything I wanted. I'm sure you guys will be kind enough to pretend it's the bees knees.

Hobbit (c) Tolkien ~and~ Centuries (c) Fall Out Boy

* * *

You're very pleased to be back home where there's a roof over your head and a fire always burning in the hearth. The snow continues to pile up outside. You watch it sometimes and reflect on how unspeakably glad you are that you don't have to fight through it. The people in Dale are less fortunate, you suppose, since they have to go outside to do things. Having been there and done that all too recently, your heart goes out to them.

You celebrate your renewed love of being indoors by tidying up the room. Thorin either can't be bothered to do it or doesn't mind the mess, but it's getting a little too cluttered for your taste. You pile up the dirty clothes for washing, stack the books and papers a little more neatly, and sweep up the accumulated dust and ritual reminds you of the times when you would blast music to make cleaning your room more tolerable. As you twirl with the broom, you start to sing: "Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold, but you will remember me, remember me for centuries..."

The memory of a song you'd all but forgotten makes you abandon cleaning all together. You spin around and around with the broom like it's at once your dance partner and your microphone. The room zooms around you in a whirl of the same colors over and over; suddenly you notice a particular color of royal blue in the rush of greys and browns. You shriek at the new presence and point the broom like a weapon.

It's Thorin. He chuckles and smiles at your reaction, melting all possible annoyance you could have harbored. "It's good to see your reflexes are still sharp," he comments, coming in fully.

"How long were you standing there?" you demand.

"Only a moment. What was that song you were singing?"

Your face immediately heats up. "It was just a song," you mumble, resuming your sweeping.

"If it's just a song, why are your cheeks like rubies?"

You huff indignantly.

Thorin switches tactics. "Sing it for me," he requests, his voice like honey. You are downright offended that he would use such unfair tactics.

"It's not - you wouldn't - I can't," you stammer, trying not to look directly into his eyes.

"And why not?"

"Because - because it's not finished!"

"Oh." Thorin looks much more intrigued now. You mentally kick yourself. "Are you writing it yourself?"

Well, you have to go along with the fib now, since the truth would be impossible to explain. "Yes."

"Then I am all the more excited to hear it. Let me know when you've finished."

"Don't you have King Under the Mountain things to do?" you grumble.

Thorin heads for the door, but he sends a parting grin at you over his shoulder. He's not going to forget this. Once you are alone again, you let out a long, exaggerated groan that echoes. All you wanted was have a little fun while cleaning up the room! You are now thoroughly _out_ of the cleaning mood.

You heave a sigh. Thorin expects a song, and you don't really have any great excuses not to have one prepared in a reasonable amount of time. You seek out inspiration in the dusty halls of the archives. You're sure Balin can direct you to some collections of songs and poems. You head down there right away.

The archives are bigger than any library you've ever seen. Shelves upon shelves of Dwarvish history, records, and stories are packed into the several large rooms. It's only slightly less dusty now than it had been under Smaug. You think the dust adds character.

"Balin! You in here?" you call into the stacks. Your voice echoes off the tall ceilings.

A very distant, very muffled, "I'm back here!" responds.

"Where is _back here_?"

There's a soft _thump_ and a dust cloud poofs up from several shelves back. You snicker and move towards it. Balin meets you in the aisle, covered in dust.

"You're going to suffocate in here one day," you tell him.

"Perhaps," he replies unconcernedly. "What brings you down here?"

"I need help. I need..inspiration. Due to an unfortunate series of events, Thorin expects a song from me, and I have no idea how to go about writing one."

"A song! That sounds lovely. Let me know when you've finished. I should like to record it."

"Wha - no! How did my lack of excitement indicate that I want _anyone_ to hear it?"

"You've got a lovely voice, lass," Balin scolds gently. "Have you got stage fright?"

"Yes," you mumble, embarrassed about being embarrassed.

"That's alright. I'm sure if you practice enough, you'll be fine. Now, what kind of inspiration are you looking for?"

"I guess...stuff about legends. Epic tales. Things like that."

"I know just the thing!"

Balin procures a small stack of tales and songs for you to read through. You spend the next few hours poring over them by candlelight. Though the archive halls are are silent, your mind is filled with the sounds of clashing swords and tinkling gold and battle cries. The imagery more than does its job; you feel like you're right in the middle of every event and moment described. You have no idea how you're going to live up to these works. The pressure makes you drop your head on the table in self-pity.

You mope all the way back upstairs. You're feeling so sorry for yourself that you quite literally bump into Dis. "Oh, oh, sorry, Dis," you say apologetically once you realize what you smacked your shoulder on.

She ignores the apology. "Who in the _world_ rained on your party?" she asks with a bit of amusement in her tone.

"What, I look that pathetic?"

"You look like you've just been denied a delightful present."

"More like saddled with an awful, unattainable task. Thorin caught me singing a bit of a song, and I said it wasn't done with it yet, and now he expects me to finish it and sing to him."

"Well, _that's_ convenient," Dis drawls. "Has he sung you any of his?"

You tilt your head. "Run that by me again, Dis?"

"Thorin's written his fair share of songs. You'd be quite within your rights to demand a trade."

"Ohh, he is in _so_ much trouble. Dis, your willingness to tattle on your brother is more precious to me than all the gold in this mountain."

"It's all to keep him in line," she says angelically. "Have fun with it, dearest."

There is now pep in your step as you enter your room. Learning of Thorin's secret song stash has cast having to write your own in an entirely new light. You're much more obliged to do it if it means getting repaid in kind.

You're lying luxuriously on the bed when Thorin enters. He raises an eyebrow at your display. You say lightly, "I heard something very interesting today."

"Your tone of voice concerns me."

"A little birdie told me that you've been known to write a few songs yourself."

Thorin crosses his arms. " _Which_ little birdie told you that?"

"Never you mind. So here's my deal: I'll finish the song I'm working on, and you sing me one of yours."

"You drive a hard bargain. But I accept."

"Then all the embarrassment I'll inevitably feel will be more than worth it."

* * *

With your newfound motivation driving you, you apply yourself to recrafting the lyrics to Centuries. The floor is soon littered with crumpled pieces of parchment bearing discarded and scratched-out verses. It feels like nothing you put down is _right_ ; it could make for a good song, but it's not _perfect_. And you want your first song to be perfect, especially since Balin intends on recording it for posterity.

"Did you have this much trouble with your songs?" you ask Thorin as you toss another paper ball.

"I did indeed," he says fervently.

"Wow, really? But you're so poetic as it is!"

"You make it easy," he returns effortlessly. "But before you, inspiration was hard won, and even then sometimes the words did not come quietly. You're in good company."

You reach out to him. "Come kiss inspiration into me!"

Thorin immediately abandons the desk to shower you in kisses. His beard tickles; you giggle. The two of you roll over and over on the bed, trying to pin each other with kisses. Being the less brawny of the two, you don't keep the top spot for long, yet somehow you're okay with that. The brief battle ends with you both in a cuddled heap, breathless from laughing.

It strikes you how unbelievable it still is that you're in this situation. Married to Thorin, living in Erebor, everything you could ever dream of wanting already in your hands…

"It's perfect," you finish your thought aloud. "This is perfect."

"It is," he agrees. "I never dreamed that life could be like this. Then you came along."

"Please, don't act like it was love at first sight," you laugh.

"No, it wasn't, and that's strange for me to think of now. Why didn't I like you?"

"Because I'm an Elf and you were a lot grouchier back then."

"Ah, that's right."

You laugh again.

"I think," Thorin muses, pulling you closer, "that I shall share in your burden of writing a song."

"Really?" You light up. "Will you sing it to me for the trade?"

"No, I doubt it will be done by then. It must be perfect before you hear it. But you will hear it one day."

"I'll hold you to that," you murmur into his shirt. You're sleepy after all the excitement. Thorin pulls the blankets over you and douses the candles.

The sweet evening with Thorin refreshes your effort to compose. You're determined to realize your artistic vision by the end of the day. Almost an entire forest worth of parchment is sacrificed in your writes and rewrites and re-rewrites, but you don't care, for the spirit of creativity has taken hold of you. You refine your ideas over and over like purified silver and finally, _finally_ let precisely the right words adorn a fresh paper like jewels specifically chosen for a crown.

The mixture of blazing triumph and utter mental exhaustion is so strong that you first thought is to post the song in the entrance hall for all to see because _you finally did it_ , but you regain your senses before that happens. You have no clue what time it is, but you do know that you haven't eaten since you began, so you run to the kitchens for a quick meal before you starve and never get to show anyone your brain child. While devouring a sandwich, you see that it's only late afternoon. It will still be hours before Thorin retires. You're shocked at how eager you are to get the show on the road. Perhaps it's just the thrill of victory making you excited.

The afternoon passes like frozen molasses. At long last, the door to the room creaks open. "It's about time!" you shout, bouncing off the bed. Thorin blinks as you drag him inside. "I finished it! I finished the song!"

"Oh! Excellent. Let's have it."

"Here." You hand him the paper with pride.

He blinks. "Aren't you going to sing?"

"I – well – I mean, you can _read_ it…"

"Of course," he says coolly. "And you can read mine."

You squint at him. "You are ruthless. Fine, okay, I – I'll do it. Just don't, like, react until I'm done, or I'll get embarrassed and I'll have to hide under the bed forever."

Thorin smiles. "We wouldn't want that. Go on. I won't react until you're done."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. The darkness helps you pretend that you don't have an audience. You begin the tune that you know so well.

 _Some legends are told  
_ _Some turn to dust or to gold  
_ _But you will remember me  
_ _Remember me for centuries  
_ _Heroes awake  
_ _To guard what's at stake  
_ _We'll go down in history  
_ _Remember me for centuries_

 _Deep inside the mountains old  
_ _Full of gems and full of gold  
_ _It's here we make our life  
_ _Carve wonders in the stone  
_ _The mountain that surrounds us is our home_

 _And though once our whole world was drowned in flames  
_ _We made a vow - we would reclaim  
_ _The halls that once were bathed  
_ _Within a golden light  
_ _The treasure that lies here is ours  
_ _Gifted by an eternal birthright_

 _We've been here forever  
_ _And here's the golden proof  
_ _We will sing together  
_ _We are the chosen few_

 _Some legends are told  
_ _Some turn to dust or to gold  
_ _But you will remember me  
_ _Remember me for centuries  
_ _Heroes awake  
_ _To guard what's at stake  
_ _We'll go down in history  
_ _Remember me for centuries_

You peek an eye open. Thorin is staring at you, enraptured. You're very glad you closed your eyes, or his expression definitely would have sent you under the bed.

"May I react now?" he asks.

"You may react now."

Thorin spins you around in a bear hug. "That was wonderful!" he exclaims. "You wrote it about us – about coming back to Erebor?"

"Yeah. It's kind of the most inspiring thing that's ever happened to me, so it seemed like a good place to start."

"It was perfect. Sing it again."

"Not so fast," you laugh. "I do believe we had a bargain."

"I'm hardly interested in singing now."

"Then you should have found another way to bribe me. Go on, let's hear it."

"Alright. Just so you know, I've never sung this for anyone before."

"Really?" You blink. "Why not?"

"It's…personal, and more melancholy than yours."

"Oh. You can pick another one, then. It's okay."

"No, I want you of all people to hear it."

"Okay," you say a bit breathlessly.

Thorin gives you a stupidly charming half-smile before beginning.

 _Oh, misty eye of the mountain below  
Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls  
And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke  
Keep watching over Durin's sons_

 _If this is to end in fire_  
 _Then we should all burn together_  
 _Watch the flames climb high into the night_

 _Calling out father oh  
Stand by and we will  
Watch the flames burn auburn on  
The mountain side_

 _And if we should die tonight_  
 _Then we should all die together_  
 _Raise a glass of wine for the last time_

 _Calling out father oh_  
 _Prepare as we will_  
 _Watch the flames burn auburn on_  
 _The mountain side_  
 _Desolation comes upon the sky_

 _Now I see fire_  
 _Inside the mountain_  
 _I see fire_  
 _Burning the trees_  
 _And I see fire_  
 _Hollowing souls_  
 _I see fire_  
 _Blood in the breeze_  
 _And I hope that you remember me_

 _Oh, should my people fall_  
 _Then surely I'll do the same_  
 _Confined in mountain halls_  
 _We got too close to the flame_

 _Calling out father oh_  
 _Hold fast and we will_  
 _Watch the flames burn auburn on_  
 _The mountain side_  
 _Desolation comes upon the sky_

 _Now I see fire_  
 _Inside the mountain_  
 _I see fire_  
 _Burning the trees_  
 _I see fire_  
 _Hollowing souls_  
 _I see fire_  
 _Blood in the breeze_  
 _And I hope that you remember me_

You can see it all play out in your mind's eye, the scenes you remember augmented by the song's imagery: the smoke obscuring the sky to an early night, the screams of pain and terror, the distant flashes of fire from deep inside the Mountain. It's as vivid as if it's your own memory.

You whisper, "That was beautiful, but…so sad. I understand why you never sang it for anyone."

Thorin half-shrugs, his expression distant but not exactly closed. "It's strange – looking around now, I can almost feel like I've been here all this time, yet little more than a year ago I was still wondering if I'd ever get to return. I have you to thank for that."

"You got yourself here well enough by yourself. It was just the staying alive part you needed help with."

"Yes…" Thorin gently traces a line across your chest, where under your shirt you still bear the scar of your attack on Azog. "The cost was almost too much to bear. How would I have gone on without you?"

"You'll never have to find out," you promise.

The distance in Thorin's eyes fades, replaced by warmth. "Your love has made me a better man than I ever hoped to be."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," you say firmly. "You were always a good man. A little rough around the edges, but good."

"And how would you know?"

"Well, I…I have a few memories of you. From before we met. Even from before Erebor fell."

He blinks. "You never told me."

"It never came up."

"What do you remember?"

You can't help but smile as you recall the images so clearly. "You and your father by the throne. You looked so calm and majestic. And you were wearing a deep royal blue – I always loved that color on you. You were receiving Thranduil, ironically enough. Then the day Smaug came, you raised the alarm. You stood at the gate with other warriors as it was giving in."

"I remember," he murmurs. "I didn't know you'd seen that day."

"Bits and pieces. But it's nothing compared to being there, of course."

"Then I clearly made the right choice in song. It's no surprise that you would understand more than I could have guessed. I could not be more lucky to have you."

You lean forward and kiss him, your fingers slipping through his raven hair. You could have told him that you're lucky, too, and that you can't imagine life without him, but he's the one who's so good with words. You find your actions get the point across much better.

"I might like writing songs," you admit, still close to him.

"Then let's have another exchange sometime. The conversations that follow are just as wonderful as hearing your voice."

* * *

i'm not crying ur crying  
WOW AND LOOK AT THOSE ACCIDENTAL PARALLELS IN THOSE SONGS WOW A+ ME WAY TO GO


End file.
